


The River Inside

by justine472



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bernie as a gynaecologist, F/F, French sabbatical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472
Summary: Serena has taken a sabbatical after the death of her daughter, Elinor, and is working at a vineyard in the Rhône Valley when she encounters Dr. Berenice Wolfe, a locum obs-gynae specialist working in the only hospital in her small town. Serena becomes her patient, but the relationship starts to develop in a different direction as they find it hard to avoid one another. With both women still suffering from previous losses and in denial about the growing strength of their feelings, what will it take to break down the barriers ?
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 121
Kudos: 174





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that came to me a while ago and I wrote the first part then abandoned it. On re-reading I decided to give it a go, so if this works for you, please let me know. 
> 
> The title and some chapter headings from "Tried to Tell You" by The Weather Station.

“OK, so have you got everything you need, Bernie?”

“Er, yes, I think so.” Dr. Berenice Wolfe looked up at her beaming colleague, Dr. Jean-Alexandre (‘call me Jax’) Bouchard as he stood before her preparing to take his leave.

To tell the truth, Bernie was not a little nervous. She had come to the public hospital in this small French town in the Rhône Valley as a locum replacing obs and gynae consultant Jax Bouchard while he went on a charity cycling tour around Europe. On arrival, however, she had found that he would be a hard act to follow. The jovial Québécois, who had settled in the town five years ago, was extremely popular among his female patients. Bernie was wondering how they would take to having to switch to a female doctor with imperfect French and a bedside manner more at home on the battlefields of the Middle East than a small rural French town. She had raised this with Jax on their first meeting but he had laughed. Being comfortably bilingual himself, he downplayed the language issue.

“Sylvie will be your nurse and she can translate if you have any problems, but from what I’ve heard, you should be fine. And once the patients learn about your amazing experience in the RAMC, I’m sure they’ll be bowled over.”

Bernie smiled politely but she had no intention of bragging about her experience in the RAMC. How tales of delivering babies in war zones and performing Caesareans in tents would help a nervous patient relax when she brandished her speculum in preparation for a pap smear Bernie couldn’t imagine. She had been accompanying and observing Jax all week and had felt progressively less confident as she watched him effortlessly charm the ladies with his easy manner. There were just two obs-gynae specialists in St. Julien, the other an older man in his early seventies who no longer performed surgery. This placed an additional burden on Jax, who had to manage a growing outpatient list and run an obstetrics unit as well as manage the surgeries in his small department. In the operating theatre, Bernie had no fear. This was the one area where she could best him any day of the week, and he knew it. They had worked together well, however, and before he left, he made it clear that there would be a place for her to work alongside him on his return if he could persuade Jean-Claude to retire. Bernie put this notion on the back burner. First she had to survive the three months of his absence.

The next day was Saturday and although she was on call for emergencies, Bernie had no fixed appointments, so she decided to go for a run and then treat herself to one of the delicious-looking pastries in the café near her apartment. As she turned, flushed and sweating, from the counter, clutching her _pains aux raisins_ in a paper bag in one hand and a cardboard coffee cup in the other, she narrowly escaped colliding with a woman who was looking down at her purse and unaware that she was blocking Bernie’s exit.

“ _Oh pardon!”_ Bernie exclaimed, stopping so quickly that the lid of the cup fell off and hot coffee sloshed out splashing her vest top and the bare skin of her chest and upper arms.

“Ahhhhh!” she cried, turning blindly to put the cup and bag down on a table so that she could pull the now steaming fabric from her body. The other woman saw instantly what had happened and grabbed a handful of napkins from a dispenser on the table, apologising profusely in French and handing her the napkins to stuff down her vest to absorb the hot liquid. Once she had a layer between her skin and the hot liquid, Bernie looked up to thank the woman and found herself suddenly tongue -tied. Her French, though functional and adequate for medical and general everyday use, completely deserted her, and she stood there with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, feeling extremely foolish.

 _“J’espère que ça ne vous a pas trop blessée”,_ the woman was saying, as Bernie desperately searched for words of reassurance, but all that came out was the word “Sorry?” The woman suddenly smiled, her face lighting up as she said “English?” in an unmistakeable cut-glass English accent. Bernie nodded, “Yes, what a relief, my French is a bit rusty!”

“Don’t worry”, the woman said, “look, why don’t we sit down and let me get you another coffee?” and she gestured to the tables outside. Bernie nodded, feeling it would be uncharitable now to run away, and besides, the woman had the most attractive dimples and deep brown eyes.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious in her skimpy vest top and sports bra and her figure- hugging running tights, Bernie sat in a corner trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. When the woman came back, she had a tray with two coffees and a plate of pastries.

“I’m so clumsy” the woman said, putting down the tray. “It must be related to the menopause, but I find I sometimes get so distracted I can’t see what’s in front of me.”

“That can happen,” Bernie admitted warmly, “but don’t worry, it’s just a bit of coffee, I’ll live.”

“Well that’s good news! I’m Serena by the way.”

“Right. Um. Bernie,” and she extended her hand which Serena took and shook formally.

“You look as though you could do with a sweet fix,” she said proffering the plate of pastries. Bernie shook her head, then held up her bag containing her own pastries.

“Oh go on,” Serena said, “you can take yours home. These are the best _pains au chocolat_ in the Rhone Valley, you must try one.”

Bernie smiled and gave in, reaching for a pastry. “Wow,” she agreed, chewing, “these are amazing.”

Serena smiled and stirred her coffee. “On holiday?” was her next question. Bernie shook her head through a mouthful of dough and chocolate paste. “You?”

“Oh no, I’m living here at the moment,” Serena said. “Working at the vineyard. A sabbatical of sorts.”

“That must be interesting,” Bernie said. “I’m just here for three months on a work placement,” she explained, taking sips of coffee between mouthfuls of pastry. It really was delicious. As was the woman seated across from her. Bernie hoped she would run into her another time, preferably not when she was all sweaty and covered in coffee.

They chewed and sipped in silence for a few minutes, and Bernie could see Serena trying to formulate another question, but at that moment, Bernie’s phone rang in the belt round her waist.

“Sorry, Serena, I have to take this,” she said, as Serena nodded. It was Sylvie.

“Bernie,” Sylvie said slowly in French, “I need you to come. It’s Paulette from the toy shop. She’s having a miscarriage. Her husband brought her to the hospital.”

“ _Bon, j’arrive_ ,” Bernie said, hanging up and getting to her feet.

“I have to go, I’m afraid, duty calls,” Bernie said.

“Well, maybe I’ll run into you again,” Serena said with a twinkle in her eye. “Just not literally!”

“Ha, right, well, bye Serena, thanks for the coffee, _à la prochaine”,_ and she sprinted away, clutching her bag of pastries.

**2 days later**

Dusk was falling when Serena Campbell left the fields and headed up to the main house hoping to catch Marie-Ange after the working day.

“Serena! _”_ Marie-Ange exclaimed, delighted to think that Serena’s appearance meant she wanted to join the family for dinner.

“Um, I was looking for some local advice _,”_ Serena explained in her very good French. She had made a point of keeping herself to herself in the cottage in the grounds of the vineyard and only joining the family when invited specifically.

“What I was wondering was whether you could recommend a good gynaecologist. I haven’t had a check up for more than a year so I thought I could do that while I’m here.”

“ _Mais bien sûr, Serena,_ I always go to Dr. Jean-Alexandre Bouchard at the local hospital. He’s wonderful- a Québecois, in fact, and so active in the local community. I’ve been going to him for more than five years and I wouldn’t want anyone else now.”

“Right, thank you, Marie-Ange, I’ll see if I can get an appointment.”

“My pleasure, Serena. He speaks English, too, of course, being Canadian, not that there’s anything wrong with your French, but some things can be easier in your own language.”

“ _Ça, c’est vrai_ ,” Serena said with a smile, which faded as she turned around and headed back to her cottage. The fact was, the previous evening, while doing a routine breast examination after her shower, she had discovered what she thought was a lump, so, aside from the fact that she hadn’t seen a gynaecologist in over a year, she also needed this checked out. Urgently.

As a non-permanent resident of St. Julien, Serena had not registered with a GP, so rather than doing battle with some ferocious gatekeeper over the telephone, she thought she would drop into the hospital reception with her documents and try to charm someone into giving her an early appointment. This proved to be a good strategy- the receptionist on the desk turned out to be an old school friend of Marie-Ange and she knew who Serena was.

“But I’m afraid le docteur Bouchard is on leave for three months,” she explained. On seeing Serena’s frown she then added, with a smile, “But we have a very nice English obs and gynae specialist standing in for him. She’s very experienced, I’m sure you’ll be fine with her.’

Given that the alternative was a 70-something French man way past retirement age, Serena decided to go for the British woman. Maybe a woman would be better in this case, anyway. More reassuring.

“Ah, we have a cancellation at 1.30 pm today, if you would like to take that?” Catherine beamed. Serena accepted with alacrity.

Returning for her appointment, Serena had been too nervous to eat lunch, but as she passed the Café de Lyon in the main square she caught a sudden glimpse of blonde hair, and as the woman turned, Serena saw it was the attractive runner she had almost collided with on Saturday. The woman turned to cross the road and saw Serena walking past. She raised a hand and smiled, but Serena was in a hurry so she just replicated the gesture and went on her way.


	2. A Medical Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena bumps into Bernie again- this time as her patient and gets herself checked over .She finds herself intrigued by the attractive but socially awkward gynaecologist.

By the time she was called in to see Dr. B.G. Wolfe, which was the name of the British specialist, Serena was much more nervous than she thought she would usually be. Serena had never met anyone who actually enjoyed pap smears and transvaginal ultrasounds, but this time, they seemed almost mundane compared with the breast lump problem. She followed the nurse down the corridor and was ushered into the consulting room.

As she entered, the Doctor was typing something rapidly into her computer and looking away from the door. The nurse ushered her in and told the doctor that the patient was English and so she wouldn’t need translation. And she left. In her nervousness, Serena didn’t really take in the Doctor’s appearance, and as she seemed very focused on her screen, Serena sat in front of the desk and waited. However, as the Doctor turned to face her, she let out an involuntary exclamation - “Oh, it’s you. You’re the new locum doctor!”

Bernie recovered more quickly. “Is that a problem?” she asked, taking off her reading glasses and facing Serena across the desk.

“N-nooo,” Serena stammered, “just a surprise, that’s all,”

Bernie smiled, and Serena saw the total transformation that had taken place between nervous runner who spilled coffee over herself, and professional, confident, medical specialist with her hair tied back and some seriously geeky specs.

“So, how can I help you, er, Serena? It IS OK if I call you Serena?”

“Yes, of course,” Serena replied. Then she proceeded to explain her situation, a year without a gynaecogical checkup, and now a lump in the breast.

“And when did you spot this lump exactly?” Bernie asked.

“I think a few days ago but it was only yesterday that I really paid attention to it and realised that it might be something significant.”

“Hmmm, so let’s take a look, shall we?”

Serena felt strangely self-conscious removing her bra in front of Bernie- she supposed she should now think of her as Dr. Wolfe- which she was sure she wouldn’t have been with a male doctor.

She lay down as instructed and tried to remain calm as Dr. Wolfe moved towards her, rubbing antibacterial gel into her hands. Suddenly she stopped. 

“Would you prefer it if I wore gloves?” she asked suddenly. Serena was surprised.

“I …er..no, that is, I don’t think I’ve ever had a doctor wear gloves before for a breast examination. But if you feel more comfortable wearing them, it’s up to you.”

“No, no, actually I prefer not to, but I’m new to this hospital and this is my first breast examination here so I’m not sure what the expected norm might be.”

“Well, a male doctor would probably ask a nurse to be present…” Serena began, but Dr. Wolfe flushed deep red and cut in “I can ask Sylvie to step in if that bothers you.”

Now it was Serena’s turn to be taken aback- “No, that’s not what I meant. Look, I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was that there would be no hint of impropriety by a male doctor not wearing gloves if an observer was present. In our case, that doesn’t apply. Please carry on.”

Dr Wolfe murmured “right” and stepped towards her, face still pink, rubbing her hands to warm them a little. Serena tried not to look at her face. She didn’t understand why the Doctor had reacted in that way, but maybe she had previously had experience of patients complaining. God knows, you had to be so careful these days, as Serena was only too aware.

Dr. Wolfe then performed a standard manual breast examination. When she reached the lump, she asked “Is this what you felt?”, palpating it.

“Yes,” Serena replied. The Doctor’s face was inscrutable, but she continued pressing and palpating the breast to check for other lumps. Serena felt herself holding her breath. She had tried to avoid looking at the Doctor’s face so as not to unnerve her, but now she looked up. Dr. Wolfe did not make eye contact with her as she completed her examination. Finally she withdrew her hands and straightened up.

“You can get dressed now,” she said, stepping away and heading for the sink to wash her hands.

Serena put her bra and shirt back on and moved back to the chair in front of the Doctor’s desk.

“What do you think it is?” she asked.

“Well we can’t be sure until we’ve run some tests but first some questions, if you don’t mind.”

She opened her computer and put her reading glasses on.

“I see from the initial patient questionnaire that you were born in 1965, so that makes you …..”

“52,” Serena supplied.

“Ha, the same age as me,” Dr. Wolfe remarked, shooting Serena a shy smile.

It was on the tip of Serena’s tongue to comment that she wished she looked as good as Bernie in lycra, but bearing in mind that they were in a in a doctor-patient situation, not a café, she restrained herself and said “Well, you certainly don’t look it.”

“That’s most kind but I can assure you I feel it most of the time. Now, Serena, what’s your occupation. I believe you told me you work in a vineyard?”

“Actually I’m a vascular surgeon, a consultant. The vineyard is a sabbatical I found myself in need of after … a rather stressful period.”

Bernie stopped typing and turned fully to face Serena. “Another doctor? Well why didn’t you say so?”

“Um….well it didn’t come up,” she replied. “Besides, I’m not an ob-gyn specialist”.

“Right, yes, of course. OK just a few more questions then we’ll talk about procedures. When was your last period?”

“Umm…..three months ago. I’m menopausal, but it was stopping and starting for about six months before the last time. Now it seems to have stopped for good.”

“Right,” Bernie murmured, typing in the form. “Any other symptoms of menopause? Hot flushes? Mood swings? Anxiety attacks?”

"All of the above,” Serena retorted drily.

Bernie looked at her sharply. “Taking anything for it? HRT for example?”

“No, and I know why you’re asking. I have consciously avoided HRT so far, but I use herbal remedies, and I had anti-depressants and tranquillizers for a while.”

Bernie raised her eyebrows. “For the stress? Or the menopause symptoms?”

There was no way round it. “My daughter died six months ago, an accident. I rather …er..went to pieces.”

Bernie sat back in her chair, her brown eyes warm behind her glasses.

“Oh Serena, I’m so sorry. That’s a really terrible burden to bear. Is that why you took a sabbatical?”

“Yes,” to her horror, Serena could feel tears form in her eyes. _Stop being nice to me!_ she thought desperately. As if sensing her mood, Bernie started on another tack.

“Right. So what about sexual partners? I’m sorry if this seems intrusive, but we have to build a picture if you want the whole gynae check. “

Serena waved her hand. “No, it’s fine, really. No recent sexual partner, not since before ……. so let’s say, December last year. I’m divorced, have been for 17 years. No regular sexual partner for any period of time longer than about six months since then. And then irregular. My job, you know, and bringing up a stroppy teenager…”

Suddenly Bernie was laughing – a most peculiar sound, midway between a bark and a honk- “Ha ha, tell me about it,” she laughed.

“You too?” asked Serena.

“Afraid so,” Bernie said, then, as if pulling herself up, she continued, “And just the one pregnancy?”

“Yes, one was definitely enough. A real handful.”

“They certainly can be,” Bernie agreed.

“What about previous tests and scans? Any irregularities? Any surgeries?”

“No, nothing, thank goodness.”

“STDs?” 

Serena paused. Edward had once given her chlamydia, which was something that had made her burn with shame and embarrassment. Of course, it was fairly routine these days to check for it, and didn’t necessarily imply anything about a person’s sexual behaviour other than that they had caught it from someone else, but old attitudes died hard and Serena found herself giving Bernie the information through gritted teeth. Bernie made no comment but entered the details in her computer. Finally she turned back to Serena.

“Ok, so first up I’ll order a mammogram and we’ll do a breast ultrasound. If you’re free for a few hours this afternoon we can fit it all in. This is a small hospital and I’m sure I can find you a slot in imaging. And if you’re up for it we could do the Pap smear and internal ultrasound after that. I have another patient in five minutes but I have a gap after that before the evening outpatient clinic so it would save you time to get it all done in one go. That’s if…..”

“Yes, yes, quite, let’s do that,” Serena agreed.

By the time she had returned from her mammogram, where a boy not much older than her nephew, Jason, in a loose white coat over baggy jeans and scruffy trainers, had squeezed her ample breasts into the machine, she felt ready to call it a day, but the thought of more time with Dr. Wolfe was not unpleasant. Serena found herself wanting to know more about the attractive but socially awkward gynaecologist.

Dr. Wolfe was alone in her room when she returned, and as Serena entered, the nurse called Sylvie slipped in with her. It seemed Dr. Wolfe needed a chaperone for a more intimate procedure, Serena thought with amusement.

“OK, all done?” She took off her glasses and stood up, stretching her back, offering Serena a clear image of her long, lean frame as she did so.

“Oh Bernie, you spent too long bending over in theatre this morning,” Sylvie said in French in a concerned voice. Serena’s ears pricked up. Bernie clearly understood but she wasn’t about to discuss it.

“Just a twinge,” she said in English, moving round towards the bed and ushering Serena inside as she drew the curtain around.

“Just remove your trousers and underwear,” she instructed her, “and lie on the bed”.

When Serena was ready, Sylvie entered the cubicle and helped Serena arrange her legs in the stirrups. She then spread a cloth over Serena’s abdomen so that only her genital region was exposed. Serena wondered whether the nurse was also there to help Bernie. Like most women of her age, she had had any number of gynaecological examinations and had seen it all, from nervous novices working alone and fumbling to get the sample properly bagged, to overconfident types who started with the largest speculum and lacked sensitivity to any discomfort, so she was mildly intrigued. But she need not have been. Even if the nurse was there to help, Bernie needed no assistance, carrying out the procedure smoothly with the minimum discomfort and great manual dexterity.

“Thank you,” Serena said quietly as Bernie handed the sample to Sylvie who stuck labels on it and carried it off.

“For what?”

“For doing that so efficiently. I mean, it can be unpleasant, but you made it seem just routine.”

Bernie gave a tight smile, then, approaching Serena and putting one gloved hand on her abdomen under the cloth, she said. “Well this might be a bit unpleasant, but I’ll be as quick as I can,” and before Serena could ask why, she felt the Doctor’s long slim fingers sliding inside her and pressing on the outside simultaneously. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, Serena thought. The doctor’s fingers knew exactly where to reach and what to touch with no unnecessary fumbling. Occasionally she would ask “Does this hurt?” and Serena shook her head. “And this?” Again, no. Finally, without meeting her eyes, Bernie withdrew her hand and turned away, stripping off her gloves and going to wash her hands.

“You can get dressed”, she called through the curtain.

“A woman of many talents,” Serena commented later, as Bernie escorted her to the ultrasound room and prepared the machine for the breast examination. This time, Serena felt distinctly more uncomfortable. There was no nurse in attendance and the procedure was strangely intimate, lying with her hands above her head – Serena had a horrible flashback to Robbie, her last boyfriend, trying gauchely to have sex with her by holding her hands above her head like that. Bernie was leaning over her as she reached into her armpits with the probe. Serena could smell her herbal shampoo and examine in detail the small mole on Bernie’s chin. She tried to look away but Bernie was all over her and whichever direction she turned her head in, she got an eyeful of a part of Bernie. The blouse under her white coat, for example, was unbuttoned to the chest and Serena got a glimpse of a lacy border on an ivory coloured bra. She felt like a voyeur so she tried to make conversation instead.

“Are all gynaecologists now trained in ultrasound techniques?” she asked.

“In hospitals, yes, and it’s the norm in clinics, too, nowadays,” Bernie answered. “I’m also a surgeon, in addition to holding an outpatient clinic, so we have to be trained in a wide range of diagnostic and therapeutic technologies.”

“Where were you working before you came here?” asked Serena, trying to make this whole thing feel more normal.

“Oh…..here and there as a locum…..but I was a surgeon with the RAMC overseas for 25 years,” she added matter of factly, adding more horrible cold gel to the probe.

Serena was impressed. “Wow! I bet that was interesting.”

“Hmm. I suppose that depends on your point of view. War zones can be very distressing, too.”

“Yes, of course, sorry, I didn’t mean….” Serena stammered, wrong-footed, as Bernie’s attention suddenly hardened and a sound of beeping told Serena that she had found the lump and was measuring it.

“OK Serena, you’re a surgeon so you know what we’re looking at here,” she angled the screen towards Serena and pointed.

“You have a lump about 2 cm by 2.5cm just here, I can’t tell at this point if it’s fluid-filled or more solid. We’ll need the mammogram results to compare but my instinct is saying cyst. For now. From the feel and the look, I mean. Once we have the imaging results we’ll decide the next step.”

She handed Serena a mass of tissues to wipe off the gel and withdrew as Serena put her bra and shirt back on.

“What about the internal?” Serena asked, seeing that Bernie was sitting back in her chair, as if waiting for something.

“Do you need water?” Bernie asked, knowing that Serena would be aware that the internal ultrasound is usually conducted when the patient has a full bladder.

“Ah, yes, I’d better,” and Serena accepted a full cup of water from the machine behind Bernie which she tried to drink quickly. Unfortunately, this made her hiccup, so Bernie said “It’s OK, take your time, deep breaths.”

It took three cups of water before Serena felt her bladder become slightly uncomfortable, and if she had been feeling awkward before, she thought the internal ultrasound would be worse, but despite the relative intimacy of having a probe inside her, the fact that the doctor was not looking at her but at the screen reduced her self-consciousness. Nothing of significance was found, so Serena was soon dressed again and back in Bernie’s consulting room via the bathroom to get rid of all the water.

“Well everything looks OK on the ultrasounds, bar that breast lump, so I’ll put a rush on the mammogram results- I’ll try to get them tomorrow then I’ll call you after I’ve looked at them and decided on the next move. We have got your phone number?”

“Yes, it’s on the form,” Serena replied.

“OK, good, right, well, see you tomorrow hopefully, and try not to worry. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

On her way out, Serena paused in the reception area to pick up some leaflets and as she did so, she saw a notice informing patients that consultations were from 11.00- 2.30, then 5.30-8pm. Serena looked at her watch. It was now almost 4pm and the reception area was deserted except for Catherine, the receptionist who had booked her appointment.

“Excuse me?” Serena asked.

“Ah, yes, Serena. How was your appointment?” she asked, smiling.

“It was fine, but I wonder if I could ask you about the schedule? It seems that Dr. Wolfe doesn’t usually have appointments between 2.30 and 5.30pm”.

“That’s right. The schedule is like this because Dr. Bouchard arranged it. The morning is for planned surgeries, the middle of the day and the evening for consultations, and there’s a break in the middle for the doctors to go out, have lunch or whatever, or deal with emergencies, before evening clinic.”

“But I’ve just finished my appointment with Dr. Wolfe. She asked me to come back after the mammogram to do the other things.”

“Yes, she told me,” Catherine said. “She said she would try to do everything for you within one day as she had no other commitments. Did you know her before? It seems as if …”

“No, no, I mean,” Serena stumbled, “I just met her briefly once in the café. But I didn’t know who she was.”

“She must like you,” Catherine stated. “She was operating all morning from 8 till 11, then she had patients until 1pm and she ran out to get a sandwich and then you came along. She must be exhausted, and the day isn’t finished.”

Serena had to agree, although the schedule was hardly comparable to that of a busy consultant in an NHS hospital, who would be pulling 12 hour shifts with scarcely time for a pee or a cup of tea. She imagined the RAMC in a war zone was no picnic either, but she refrained from pointing this out. She also didn’t want to be caught gossiping about Bernie with a receptionist, so she politely said goodbye and left the building.


	3. Going deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena is worried about the results of her tests so she calls her friend Fleur in Holby to talk the problem through and finds out that Bernie Wolfe is famous. Bernie does a needle aspiration of Serena's cyst and they end up having tea together. Serena is more and more intrigued by the enigmatic doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a medical professional so if you are, please overlook any inaccuracies.

Serena was anxious for the results of her breast scan. Despite Bernie’s apparent confidence that it was just a cyst, Serena knew she wasn’t out of danger yet. Finally, unable to finish her supper, and after three glasses of Shiraz, she sent a message to a former obs-gynae consultant colleague from Holby who might be able to talk her through the possibilities. Fleur Fanshawe was happy to oblige and Face-Timed Serena as soon as she got her message. They hadn’t spoken since Serena had decided to leave on her sabbatical. Fleur had been on secondment in Copenhagen, only returning to Holby the previous week, which Serena had been unaware of, so the first few minutes were spent catching up and exchanging news. Then Serena came to the Lump.

“The consultant is probably right, Serena. If she’s very experienced she will have a gut feeling about it even if she can’t detect fluid in it immediately. Some cysts, especially smaller ones, are quite hard, but if the edges are more regular, it tends to indicate something benign. When she gets the mammogram she’ll be able to compare and get a better idea.”

“What would your next step be?” Serena asked.

“Well, if I thought there was a more than 50% chance it’s a cyst I might try a needle aspiration. If it’s liquid filled, extracting the liquid will collapse it and probably solve the problem for now. If it was harder and I was less sure, I’d do a biopsy. But come, on, you’re a surgeon, you know all this, surely?”

“Yes,” confessed Serena, “but it’s different when it’s you and you have to put yourself in someone else’s hands. I’ve never been good at not being in the driving seat, if you know what I mean.”

“Well who is this consultant? It sounds as if you don‘t trust her.”

“She’s British actually. Her name’s Bernie Wolfe, she used to be in the RAMC apparently.”

“Berenice Wolfe? THE Berenice Wolfe?”

“What do you mean THE? Is she famous?”

“Bloody hell, Serena, if it’s the same one, you’re in the safest possible hands I can think of. Wolfe’s a legend, she’s written God knows how many papers on Obs and Gynae in developing countries. She’s also done a fair bit of Trauma work with the RAMC, too. But what on earth is she doing in rural France I wonder?”

“She’s covering for a doctor on leave, she said. Maybe she fancied a bit of a holiday.”

“She might be still recovering from her injury- she got blown up, as I recall, in Afghanistan I think.”

Before Serena had a chance to comment, Fleur powered on “Is she still drop dead gorgeous?”

“Sorry? What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, Serena, I saw her once at a conference. Blonde, built like a model with legs that go on for days. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Serena could feel herself blushing as she protested. “Really, Fleur. This was a patient -doctor type of thing, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Tosh. I know you, Serena Campbell. You might pretend to be straight, but you notice beautiful women, and you can flirt for England!”

“Well I can assure you flirting was the last thing on my mind,” Serena said, trying to inject a bit of outrage into her voice.

“Speak for yourself,” Fleur retorted. “I may be a professional, but that doesn’t mean I don’t clock the gorgeous women who come through my doors.”

They bantered on for a while, then Serena found an opportunity to cut the conversation, having obtained the information she wanted, and more besides. She could still feel her face hot from Fleur’s suggestions. Of course Serena had noticed that Bernie was gorgeous, but it had been during the incident in the café, not in the hospital, that she had noticed. Unable to resist, she Googled Berenice Wolfe and up came all the information Fleur had mentioned. A long list of impressive-sounding papers, a mugshot that barely did her justice but confirmed that it was the same woman. Messy blonde hair and eyes like dark pools looking soulfully into the camera. At this point, the stresses of the day, the conversation with Fleur and three glasses of Shiraz all conspired to make Serena feel sleepy, not to mention a little bit guilty for snooping around her doctor’s background online, so she closed her laptop and headed for bed.

The following morning, after a restless sleep punctuated by dreams of being operated on by a blonde female surgeon not unlike the legendary Berenice Wolfe, Serena pottered around doing her chores, barely capable of swallowing her breakfast, until, a little after 11 her phone jumped on the coffee table and the hospital number appeared on the screen.

“Serena Campbell,” she barked, never having quite lost the habit of being always on call professionally.

“Good morning, Serena,” came the cheerful voice of Bernie Wolfe, who, without waiting for Serena’s response, continued “I’ve just got your imaging results and I thought I should let you know as soon as possible.”

“Let me know…?”

“That the mammogram confirms my earlier opinion that this is probably a benign cyst, and that I would like to do a needle aspiration, if you agree, to confirm that diagnosis.”

“And if it’s not …a benign cyst, I mean?”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Would you be free between 3 and 4 this afternoon?”

“Well..yes, I could be, but you don’t have appointments at that time, do you?”

“Not scheduled appointments, but I’m on call so I could do it then. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait for a surgery slot on, let me see, Friday?”

“I’d very much appreciate getting this over with as fast as possible,” Serena said, “but I don’t want you to put yourself out for me, or dislodge any other patients.”

Dr. Wolfe chuckled, a rich, warm sound that Serena felt right down to her toes. “Don’t worry about that, Serena. While Dr. Bouchard is on leave I can pretty much fill the time as I wish- outside of the scheduled appointments, that is. I sense you’re anxious to get this over, and I’m free, so don’t feel guilty if you’d like to take me up on the offer.”

“Ok, 3pm it is, then.”

When she arrived for her appointment, having been too nervous to think about lunch, she was amused to see that Bernie was eating something that she shoved into a drawer as soon as the door opened.

Sylvie bustled in with her. “ _Bernie, tu n’as pas encore dejeuné_? ” she sounded outraged, as indeed would any right-thinking French person, thought Serena, knowing the importance of the lunch hour in this rural backwater.

Bernie flapped her hand “ _Pas de problème_ ,” she managed through a mouthful of biscuit or whatever it was, while Sylvie brought the patient file and put it on the desk, waiting for further instructions.

Bernie stood up, swallowing her last mouthful, “We’ll go to the ultrasound room so that I can reconfirm the exact location of the cyst,” she said, picking up the file and motioning for Sylvie to lead the way. As they walked, Serena was struck with a thought. 

"You're an obs-gynae specialist, should you actually be doing this?" She hadn't meant for it to come out quite as tartly and was about to apologise when Bernie gave a short bark of a laugh.

"Well that's not such a bad question. Ordinarily, an obs-gynae consultant would hand over to a radiologist or ultrasound specialist, but I'm trained to do this and other procedures relating to women's health. We had to have a broad range of skills in the RAMC and in some of the places we worked, they didn't allow male doctors to treat women for intimate procedures."

Bernie had half-turned to answer the question, pushing through the swing doors backwards as she did so, then pivoting to open the door of the ultrasound room. Serena soon saw that her nervousness was unjustified. Despite her apparent disorganisation in eating lunch at her desk, Bernie was focused, careful and very efficient. She gave Serena a little local anaesthetic, but the procedure was relatively painless and took no more than 10 minutes.

“Just stay here and rest a minute, Serena,” she said. “This sample will go to the main lab in Lyon but I want to have a quick look first,” and off she went, sample in hand.

Sylvie remained in the room with Serena. She looked at Bernie’s departing figure and shrugged her shoulders resignedly.

“ _Depuis qu’elle est arrivée, je n’ai presque rien à faire,_ ” she complained. ("Since she arrived I've had hardly anything to do").

Serena picked up the conversation in French.

“She does seem very efficient,” she remarked, trying to draw Sylvie out a little.

“Oh, she can do everything and that’s the problem,” Sylvie sighed. “I’m used to doctors who expect me to collect samples, take them here and there, explain everything to the patients for them while they just do the necessary things. But this Dr. Wolfe, she does half my job for me.”

“Well, I’d enjoy it if I were you,” Serena laughed.

“I would if I didn’t know that Dr. Wolfe was badly injured in an explosion only 5 months ago, and that she has terrible pain in her back sometimes. One day I found her asleep on the floor of her office. She said the hard surface was better than her bed, which was too soft, so she tried to rest there. But she won’t let anyone touch her, and always pretends she’s fitter than she really is.”

Serena didn’t know quite how to respond so she was relieved when Bernie bustled back in after a few moments.

“As I thought. The fluid drained completely and cyst appears to have collapsed. No nasties I can see in this sample, so while we’ll send it off to Lyon just to be absolutely sure, I think you can relax, Serena, the worst is probably over.”

“For now,” Serena added. “The cyst might come back”.

“That’s true,” conceded Bernie, “but cysts take several months to refill and most of the time they’re also benign. So let’s not be too pessimistic, eh?”

Serena stood to leave, but the sudden movement brought on a wave of vertigo, and she gripped the edge of Bernie’s desk.

“Serena, what is it?” Bernie asked, alarmed by Serena’s pallor, but Serena flapped her hand and stood for a while taking deep breaths until her vision cleared and the nausea receded.

“Low blood sugar most probably. I …I haven’t really eaten today yet.”

“Well, that won’t do. I can’t have my patients fainting all over my consulting room,” Bernie smiled. “I missed lunch too, so why don’t I take you over to the café for a Croque Monsieur ….?”

Serena looked up in surprise, then she found her wits. “Actually, I’d prefer a Croque Madame, but lead on, Doctor Wolfe, if it’s not forbidden to fraternise with the patients,” and she gave Bernie the full benefit of her most flirtatious smile.

Bernie swallowed and, colouring a little, removed her white coat, revealing a pale blue short-sleeved shirt left hanging outside quite possibly the tightest black skinny jeans Serena had ever seen on an actual person. She tried not to stare and turned to lead the way to the door as Bernie grabbed her handbag and followed her. Serena could see how uncomfortable her flirting was making Bernie, and although it amused her to turn the tables and exercise a little power, she also didn't want to embarrass or alienate someone she was beginning to want to think of as a friend.

The café was almost deserted- the lunch crowd had long departed and the afternoon tea patrons had yet to arrive. The owner, Thierry, greeted Bernie enthusiastically.

“He’s Sylvie’s brother,” Bernie confided to Serena as Thierry seated them next to the window in a secluded corner _._ Serena had been here only two or three times before and didn’t recognise him, but he clearly knew who she was.

“There are no secrets in this town,” she told Bernie, “you’ll no doubt get used to it.”

They ordered- the Croque Madame for Serena ("I've had this here before and it's delicious") and a Croque Monsieur for Bernie. Then they sat, feeling a little awkward. Bernie tried to break the silence by sticking to a professional line of conversation.

“You can take that dressing off tomorrow morning,” she said. “The wound shouldn’t bleed any more, but you may have a little bruising around the puncture site for a few days and it will be tender”.

“Yes, thank you,” Serena supplied as Thierry brought their plates and a waitress followed with a pot of Earl Grey tea and two cups. On the tray was also a bottle containing a fiery red substance bearing the label, “100% Pure Pain” in English. Bernie seized it enthusiastically, saying "Thierry knows what I like". Serena raised an eyebrow.

“Super hot chilli sauce,” Bernie explained, squirting a healthy dollop onto her toasted sandwich. “I er..got rather used to lots of chilli in the Middle East and this stuff is amazing”, cutting a big chunk of sandwich and putting it in her mouth.

“Well, whatever floats your boat,” Serena murmured, then, changing the subject, she asked, “So, _is_ it acceptable to fraternise with patients, or not?”

Bernie was still chewing so Serena took a bite of her own sandwich.

“I really don’t know,” Bernie replied, after swallowing, “but if in a town this size you don’t socialise with patients, I don’t know who you _could_ socialise with.”

“Men?” suggested Serena, “Seeing as you’re a gynaecologist.”

“Mmm, yes, I wasn’t thinking about that, but you’re right. Except that, having only fairly recently divorced my husband, the last thing on my mind at the moment is meeting more men.”

“Ah, another member of the embittered ex-wives club,” Serena grinned, holding out her hand. “Welcome, Serena Campbell, I’m a founder member.”

Bernie looked at her hand, then took it tentatively, giving a brief shake. When she let go, Serena could feel the tingle in her palm.

“Bad divorce?” asked Serena, trying to show sympathy.

Bernie winced. “More than,” she agreed. “But the great thing is that it’s final. No shared financial responsibilities, and I never got on with his family, so….”

“Kids?” asked Serena, remembering what Bernie had said during her first appointment.

“Ah yes,” and Bernie looked suddenly sad. She took a sip of tea, then, tracing idle patterns on the tablecloth with her finger, she said. “I have a son and a daughter, both quite grown up, but unfortunately neither is on speaking terms with me right now.”

“Why ever not?” asked Serena, hoping she wasn’t being too intrusive. Bernie sighed.

“Let’s just say that things between Marcus and I were not really all that transparent, and he used that to turn them against me.”

Serena didn’t really see how she could intrude further, so she attempted to deflect the conversation.

“So you wound up here. And I understand from Sylvie that you’re injured?”

“Well, I suppose it’s no secret,” Bernie replied a little tartly, “But I’m recovered, or I wouldn’t be working here. Just a few aches and pains remaining,” and she continued eating her sandwich.

Before Serena could think of a safer topic of conversation, Bernie’s phone rang. She swallowed her last mouthful, wiped her mouth on a napkin and sighed. After a brief conversation, she stood, putting her hand lightly on Serena’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Serena, I’m being called. No-“ as Serena made to rise, “Don’t get up, stay and finish your tea. This is on me. I'll call you when we have your results,” and before Serena could react, Bernie had her purse out and was half way across the café, giving her a little wave as she left. Serena could feel the imprint of her fingers for some time after she withdrew.

Damn, thought Serena, as Bernie disappeared from view, her absence suddenly leaving a hole in Serena’s afternoon. Bernie Wolfe was growing on her, as was her curiosity about Bernie’s current circumstances. She suddenly realised that she had no way of reaching Bernie other than via the hospital switchboard, so she would either have to wait for her results to come back from Lyon or think of something else if she wanted to see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There actually is a chilli sauce called "100% Pure Pain", a US import sold in Europe. It's not easy to find but I love it, and it's exactly the kind of thing I could imagine Bernie torturing her taste buds with.


	4. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena has been trying, unsuccessfully, to bump into Bernie and Bernie has had similar ideas. Their plans collide rather dramatically one afternoon by the side of the road. The incident ends up bringing them into rather more intimate contact than either had imagined.

As the days went by, Serena’s thoughts were drawn increasingly to Bernie and to whether they could be friends once she was no longer a patient. That depended on the test results, and that was another 10 days off. The winery was gearing up for the harvest, so Serena knew she wouldn’t have much time for socialising while that was going on. Yet popping into the two cafes where they had been together yielded no sight of Bernie, despite Serena’s attempts to plan her visits around what she knew of the doctor’s daily schedule.

Naturally, Serena was completely unaware that Bernie had been doing the same thing- directing her thrice-weekly runs out towards the vineyard in the hope of bumping into Serena. Which is exactly what happened on the Saturday four days after Serena’s last appointment. With a free morning, Serena had decided to go into St. Julien early to get her hair cut and do some shopping. She had been rather hoping to run into Bernie and persuade her to join her for lunch, but once she had finished her chores and made her coffee and pain au chocolat last for as long as she could decently occupy a table, there was nothing for it but to give up. Lunch was a lot less appealing on her own so at around 12 she found herself heading back in the dusty old Citroen the family let her use as a runabout. 

As she turned off the main road down a narrow lane leading to the vineyard access road, a motorcyclist burst into her rearview, accelerating past her, far too close for comfort, his customised exhaust emitting a loud noise and clouds of diesel fumes. Shocked by the intrusion, she clung tightly to the wheel to keep control of the car, seeing only that the rider was helmetless, his open denim jacket flapping behind as he disappeared round the next bend. “That will not end well,” she muttered to herself, and, sure enough, before she rounded the second bend in the road, she heard a noise of wheels skidding on gravel and some sort of impact. Serena drove quickly towards the scene of the accident, her heart beating rapidly. As she rounded the corner, she saw a motorcycle on its side, wheels spinning, but no sign of the rider. Pulling to a halt, Serena jumped out of her car and looked all around. On the opposite side of the road, a familiar blonde, lycra-clad figure was slowly getting to her feet.

“Bernie!” exclaimed Serena, rushing over to her. “Are you hurt?”

“Not nearly as much as him,” gesturing to the other figure in the ditch who was lying still. “You’re a doctor, give me a hand.”

Bernie bent slowly over the prone figure of the rider but it was clear she was in pain.

“I can’t stay bent like that, can you take a look?”

Serena got down on her knees and felt for a pulse. The young man’s trajectory from bike to ditch appeared to have been interrupted by a fence post. He had a head wound that was just beginning to ooze blood.

“He’s unconscious but breathing,” she said. “A bash on the head, no helmet.”

“The bloody idiot,” murmured Bernie, straightening up with a grimace and holding her side.

“We’d better call an ambulance, and, still gritting her teeth, she pulled out her phone and pressed the emergency number.”

“Here, let me,” said Serena, knowing that Bernie’s command of French on the phone might slow things down.

Bernie's attempt at a glare failed as her face contorted with pain. She handed the phone over.

“Dr. Berenice Wolfe here,” Serena snapped when the phone was answered, and proceeded to reel off a list of information about the accident, the rider and their location as Bernie looked on helplessly. She winked at Bernie, who tried to smile.

“OK done. Ten minutes max,” she announced, passing the phone back to Bernie and reaching over to assess the young man’s condition.

“I think it’s best not to move him in case he’s injured his neck or spine,” she said. “He should be OK for ten minutes, but you’re not OK. Did he collide with you?”

“Not really,” Bernie managed, sliding down into the ditch so that she could lie on her uninjured side. “He swerved when he saw me, but I jumped out of the way and he rolled on top of me when he was thrown from the bike. It’s my old injury as much as anything I think.”

“You need an X-ray,” Serena said firmly, “so you’ll go to the hospital with this young man and get treated.”

“Oh I don’t think….” Bernie began, but Serena put her hand on her arm.

“I may be your patient, but now we’re talking about you. I’m a doctor and I insist. I’m coming with you and I’ll stay to check you’re OK.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you Serena, but there’s really no need,” Bernie said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can see how much pain you’re in and I’m going to make sure you get what you need. No arguments.”

Bernie hung her head. Serena could see in the slump of her shoulders how much she was suffering and she put her hand gently over Bernie’s where it was supporting her on the ground. When the ambulance came, Serena helped supervise the loading of the young man onto a stretcher, then she turned to the paramedic.

“The rider collided with Dr. Wolfe, who was running. She has a previous back injury and is now in a lot of pain. She needs painkillers and an X-ray when she arrives. I’m following in my car- I’m also a doctor, by the way.”

The paramedic nodded and Serena noticed that Bernie had stopped resisting, and had allowed herself to be helped into the ambulance. The ambulance then departed, but Serena knew something had to be done about the bike. She suspected the young man might have been visiting one of Marie-Ange and René’s teenage offspring, so she called the house and asked someone to fetch the bike and find out who it belonged to, realising somewhat belatedly that her preoccupation with Bernie had led to her neglecting the identity of the motorcycle victim.

On arrival at the hospital, Serena was relieved to find Sylvie at the nurse’s station in the ED. She, of course, had witnessed the arrival of the accident victims and as soon as she heard that Serena had been at the scene, she put a hand on her arm.

“ _C’est le fils de Thierry, tu sais. Mon neveu, Eric.”_

“What? The motorcyclist, your nephew? Oh, Sylvie, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the other woman replied grimly. “He’s an absolute menace with that bike. I always knew he’d hurt himself one day. And now he’s hurt one of our doctors! _La pauvre!_ ”

“She’s OK,” Serena said, explaining that she was also a doctor on an emergency ward in the UK and that she was going now to check on Bernie and the boy.

“When Thierry comes, tell him to talk to me first. We have to inform the police and I want him to know everything before we do.”

It wasn’t hard to track down Bernie in the small hospital where she was well known. She was lying on a bed in a cubicle, obviously sedated, but conscious. As Serena came in and closed the curtain around them, she was suddenly aware of the length of Bernie’s legs in the skin tight lycra, and of all the bare skin on display. Fleur’s “drop-dead gorgeous” remark came into her mind, and she felt herself flushing, but hastily pushed the thought away. The woman was injured, for God’s sake!

“Bernie,” she said, taking her hand, “How are you?”

“S-serena?” Bernie murmured drowsily, half opening her eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m checking on you.”

“Well, as you can see I’m still in one piece,” she replied, more sharply than Serena would have expected from someone who should be fuzzy from the pain relief.

“Have they taken you for an X-ray yet?”

“No, just waiting…” as she spoke, the curtain was suddenly pulled back and a porter entered with a wheelchair, followed by Sylvie.

“Thierry’s here, he wants to speak to you, Bernie,” she said.

“He’ll have to wait – my instructions are to take the Doctor to X-ray,” the porter replied brusquely.

“Look, let me talk to Thierry first. Bernie can fill you in later. I saw more than her anyway,” Serena said.

As Sylvie had predicted, both she and Thierry were as exasperated by Eric’s behaviour as they were worried for his well-being. He had been taken for a head CT and they were preparing to admit him for overnight observation at the very least.

“It was my wife that bought him that motorbike,” Thierry said. “I warned her against it, but Eric talked her round, said all the other kids he knew had them. He took his test but I know he didn’t always wear his helmet.”

Serena confirmed that he had been helmetless and driving recklessly.

“Look Serena, you have to tell the police the truth. It pains me to do this, but the boy has to learn a lesson. Fortunately, my wife has gone to Lyon on business, so she can’t persuade them to go soft on him. I’ll never forgive myself if Eric has injured our beloved Dr. Wolfe!”

It was interesting, thought Serena, how everyone was more concerned about Bernie than the boy with a potential head injury.

The afternoon dragged on and Serena had to call Marie-Ange to warn her that she was held up in St. Julien as a result of the accident, and she and René told Serena not to worry and to take the afternoon off. By the time the police had come and gone and the hospital was ready to discharge Bernie, Serena felt almost like a member of Thierry’s family. And not in a good way.

“Come on, Bernie, I’m taking you home,” Serena said, seeing that she was desperate to escape the claustrophobic small-town fuss and attention, as was Serena.

“But what about Eric?”

“He has his father, his aunt and now his sister and two cousins have shown up, so I think his needs are covered. The head CT showed no serious damage. Just a concussion and some superficial cuts and grazes. He’ll be fine.”

“And so will I,” Bernie replied, clutching her X-Ray to her chest in a manila envelope.

“I just want to make sure you get home and are comfortable. Then I’ll leave you in peace,” Serena surprised herself by being so insistent, but suddenly Bernie’s well -being was the most important thing on her horizon.

Bernie capitulated, exhausted, sore and beyond embarrassment, and Serena took her back to the small flat she lived in, helping her up the two flights of stairs. It was a slow process, and Serena refrained from commenting until she had Bernie safely stretched out on the sofa and she had put the kettle on.

The flat was small but cosy. Serena found herbal tea in the cupboard and made Bernie a soothing mixture of chamomile and lime tree. When she put down the mug, she said “I think it’s time you told me the extent of this previous injury, don’t you?”

Bernie was lying back with her eyes closed and groaned. Then she handed the envelope she had been clutching to Serena.

The X-Ray showed no new fractures, but Serena could clearly see where there had been previous damage to the top of Bernie’s spine. A metal rod was holding her neck in place.

“Oh Bernie, for goodness sake!”

“Yes, it causes no end of problems at airports,” Bernie said drily.

“So how did it happen?”

“Ah…IED in Afghanistan. I was medi-vac’d to the Queen Elizabeth hospital in Birmingham.”

“How long ago?”

“Five months. “

“And were there any other injuries?” asked Serena shrewdly.

“Pseudo-aneurysm of the right ventricle,” Bernie admitted.

“But Bernie that’s…major surgery. And here you are pretending there’s nothing’s wrong!”

“I’m fine,” Bernie replied tightly. “Just stiff and sore. I’m a fast healer and this in no way stops me from doing my job.”

Serena reached over and touched Bernie’s hand.

“I wasn’t suggesting that for a minute,” she said gently. “But we all need a bit of looking after-and you’re here all alone. Let me help.”

“I’m not sure what you think you can do, Serena, apart from offering soothing company, I mean. I’m grateful for your presence but I just need to take the meds and sleep this off.”

“Do you have a physio?” Serena asked. Bernie shook her head.

“Seems I’m fussy about who puts their hands on me. I’ve managed OK up to now.”

Serena thought hard for a minute. How to break through this prickly barrier Bernie had erected around herself? She sat down in the armchair next to the sofa and took Bernie’s hand very gently.

“Look, I’m a doctor so I have some idea of what’s going on here. You’re in pain and this may require rather more than just some pills and sleep.”

“What are you suggesting?” this said in a defensive tone.

“I could offer a massage…I have taken courses.”

There was a silence. Then Bernie said “I need a shower first.”

Serena felt a small stab of triumph but kept her voice neutral. “A bath would be better”.

“If I had a bathtub. It’s OK, I have a stool I put in the shower so I can sit down when my back hurts. I can manage that if you can help me get to my feet.”

Serena helped Bernie up, then went ahead and ran the shower to get the hot water flowing, exiting the bathroom to give Bernie privacy.

“I’m right here if you need,” Serena said. Bernie just nodded and closed the bathroom door.

When she emerged fifteen minutes later, her hair was wrapped in a towel and she had donned a navy terrycloth robe. Without making eye contact with Serena, she went into her bedroom and Serena could hear a drawer being opened and the rustle of fabric against skin. Finally Bernie called her in.

“Do you have anything like muscle balm or massage oil?” Serena asked, unwilling to go poking around uninvited.

Bernie nodded “Look in the bathroom cabinet. I think I have some Deep Heat.”

The Deep Heat turned out to be a mangled tube with very little left in it. Besides, the smell alone would stop anyone from sleeping. Serena had been increasingly aware of Bernie’s apparently spartan preferences – plain soap, supermarket generic shampoo, conditioner and shower gel, and, apart from a box of blonde hair dye, nothing really in the cupboards that revealed an interest in self other than the purely utilitarian. Then, moving a four-pack of soap bars, she suddenly came across a small bottle of Lavender Essential Oil. Well, what a surprise! Serena couldn’t stop the small smirk she wore when she re-entered the bedroom. Bernie was now face down on a towel spread over the bed, her robe undone but still covering her.

“All sorted?”

“Yep. But I think we have to lose this robe. Can I?”

“Go ahead,” Bernie said, holding her arms up for Serena to pull the robe off, then burying her face in them.

As Serena peeled the thick robe from Bernie’s body, she had to suppress a gasp at the sheer elegant beauty of the toned form laid before her, lightly tanned arms and shoulders with a dusting of freckles, and clad only in a pair of black bikini briefs. Serena warmed her hands and anointed them with lavender oil, then, with a sense of ceremony, she began. At the first touch of her hands, she felt Bernie tense, then, as her hands found their rhythm, release her breath and relax, surrendering to the soothing sensation. Serena started tentatively, standing by the bed, but as her hands massaged deeper she ended up straddling Bernie’s prone form, hands sweeping up and down that beautiful back, kneading the shoulders lightly, digging into the base of the spine, knowing both by instinct and experience where Bernie’s body would tense to accommodate the injured part. She remembered that Bernie had been holding her left side after the accident, and surveilling the pale flesh she could see a bruise forming, so she made sure to go gently there, sweeping her hands to the sides and down as far as the top of her knickers. As the lavender oil began to warm and release its calming aroma, Bernie murmured “That’s not Deep Heat”.

“No, better than,” Serena replied, concentrating only on her movements and the tension in the muscles.

Bernie lay inert but the tell-tale inhalations told Serena that her hands were finding their mark. As she swept upwards, her fingers slid to the sides of Bernie’s breasts. Serena was quick to shorten the sweep next time, a little alarmed by the way her hands seemed to be acting of their own accord, and she could swear she felt a reaction in the slight hitch of breath before she swept away again. Finally, after about 40 minutes, Serena felt she had done all she could and Bernie seemed fully relaxed, on the verge of sleep. Finishing with a tap on the shoulder, Serena climbed off the bed and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Bernie still hadn’t moved, so Serena called her softly.

“Mmm?” was the answer.

“Bernie, I think we’re done here. You need to put something warm on your back and get into bed”, and she reached to cover Bernie’s back with the robe, realising as she did so that there was no way Bernie could get up without giving Serena a free show.

Bernie had obviously come to the same conclusion. “Do me a favour…. turn down the duvet on the other side and help me roll in,” she said.

Serena did as requested, pulling the duvet free of Bernie’s body as she crawled, still face down, across the bed. Finally, Serena got the duvet up and over Bernie, and removed the robe and the damp towel from her hair. It was a warm afternoon, she should be fine.

Then she got Bernie a glass of water, put the pain medication from the hospital on the bedside table and collected Bernie’s phone from the living room.

“Bernie, before you fall asleep, unlock your phone for me. I’ll put my number in and I’ll get yours.”

Bernie raised her head a little and fumbled with the phone, then handed it to Serena, who quickly called her own number and hung up, entering her name into Bernie’s contacts.

“Ok, I’ll leave you. Your pain meds are here and there’s some water. If there’s anything you need, or if you can’t move when you wake up, call me. I’ll leave your door unlocked in case you need anyone to come in and help you. It's safe enough here.”

“Thanks, Serena, I feel miles better already,” a sleepy voice murmured.

Serena suppressed the sudden urge to kiss her cheek, settling for a gentle shoulder pat.

“Bye, sleep well,” she whispered.

By the time she reached her car, mind still on the play of Bernie’s muscles under her fingers and the softness of her skin, Serena realised she had a bit of a crush on her doctor. More than a bit.

“Dammit,” she muttered to herself.


	5. Social Mingling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie wakes feeling much better and Serena invites her to lunch. When she arrives, however, the family insist on Bernie and Serena joining them for a family meal, where Bernie overhears something interesting. She's also feeling increasingly uncomfortable around Serena Campbell!

When Bernie awoke on Sunday morning she was amazed to find she had slept straight through the night, that must be some kind of record, she thought. She scrutinised the contents of the pain medication she had been prescribed at the hospital- right, well, that would account for some of it. But the internal wellness and calm she felt was surely not only chemically induced. Getting out of bed proved to be much less of an ordeal than usual. She tried bending to touch her toes. Fine. Not a twinge. She practised some slow and careful yoga stretches; there was soreness from the bruise on her side, but otherwise, the natural conclusion was that Serena’s massage had done her the world of good. She didn’t want to push things by going for a run, so she showered and dressed in loose sweats, then, feeling suddenly ravenous, she made coffee and scrambled eggs on toast, she even squeezed a couple of oranges, and read the news on her tablet for a while. 

She was putting off the moment when thoughts of Serena would invade her consciousness. In truth, the beautiful British surgeon with the sad, dark eyes and cute dimples had found her way into Bernie’s constrained, compartmentalised life, threatening to disrupt it. Bernie had come to France, taken this job she didn’t really need, in order to escape. From the hurt she had caused her ex-husband and children, from the shame of being an unfaithful wife, from the grip of a lover who was not after all, she had realised only belatedly, her soul-mate once they had left the battlefield. The black cloud of negativity, brutally overlaid with the real physical pain of her injuries, had threatened to crush Bernie’s soul. She had always been a loner, self-sufficient, able to cope in her domestic life only by seeking the order and discipline of the military she had chosen as a career. Now she was free floating, cut adrift, scrabbling to hold onto a rapidly disintegrating existence. Then her old commanding officer had got in touch- a former colleague of his was now the Medical Director of a public hospital in rural France, desperately seeking an ob-gyn consultant to cover a leave of absence. Was she interested?

She had been in St. Julien a few days short of a month now, settling well into her new life. The climate was pleasant- it was still summer, after all. The work was hardly onerous compared to a battlefield in Iraq or Afghanistan, and less stressful than the NHS, or what she had observed of it from her occasional locum postings. She had pulled a few shifts at her ex-husband’s private hospital, St. James’, but the cruelty and scorn Marcus had directed at her since finding out about Alex had made her situation untenable. This was infinitely preferable, and, truth be told, since she had asserted herself after Jax’s departure, she was beginning to think she might take Jax up on his offer after all, if he felt the same way when she returned, that is. Jean-Claude was kind and helpful but made no bones about planning his retirement as a soon as Dr. Bouchard returned. He was 72, his wife had retired, they planned to move to Guadeloupe to be close to their daughter and her growing family. They had invited Bernie to dinner, and she had sat patiently through their many videos of holidays with said daughter, her dentist husband and their three small children and wonderful house in their Caribbean paradise. So Bernie wasn’t too worried about her future. Or hadn’t been, until the woman with the deep chocolate eyes had penetrated her armour and planted her image in Bernie’s thoughts. She really should have refused the massage, but for once, she was weak- the pain had been excruciating, and, she an experienced doctor with extensive trauma experience, knew that by refusing to hire a physiotherapist she was doing her body no favours. But still. The moment Serena had laid hands on her, Bernie had come face to face with two home truths. One: she needed this. Two: she was in trouble.

As she sat contemplating her phone and wondering how best to send a thank you message to Serena, the device suddenly sprang to life.

_Hi, hope you’re feeling better! Is there anything you need? S_

Well that was easy:

_I’m feeling wonderful, thank you so much, Serena, you’ve been really helpful. I’m fine today. B._

And that should be that. Another week of work and focus on practicalities before she had to face Serena again. But Serena had other ideas.

_Well if you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you’d like to come out to the vineyard for lunch? It’s a beautiful day. We could have lunch in my cottage. What do you think? I can come and pick you up._

Bernie sat staring at her phone in utter perplexity. She couldn't use work or pain as an excuse. And she didn’t want an excuse-what could be nicer than lunch _à deux_ with Serena Campbell? But the slowly uncoiling serpent of desire that Serena’s presence had invoked was holding her back.

_Pull yourself together, Wolfe. It’s lunch. Not a dirty weekend on the Côte d’Azur! You can do this._

_Well thank you, Serena, I’d love to. I’ve always wanted to see a vineyard. You don’t need to pick me up, I have a hire car so I can find my way. What time? And what can I bring?_

Bernie arrived at the vineyard at 12.30. She had got the car intending to explore the local area, but the vineyard was her first social outing. Serena was waiting for her at the entrance.

“You look well rested,” she greeted Bernie.

“I slept for thirteen hours,” Bernie replied, “probably for the first time in my adult life!”

“Should do it more often,” twinkled Serena, who was looking especially lovely today in a fuschia sleeveless blouse and white linen trousers. She had fuschia lipstick to match, Bernie noticed, tearing her eyes hastily from Serena’s lips. Bernie herself, possessing only mostly functional clothes, had opted for light tan cargo pants and a white V-neck T-shirt, but she had swapped her usual trainers for practical black sandals. She had also made a trip to a local Sunday flower market and presented Serena with a colourful bouquet of summer flowers.

“Thank you, Bernie, these are beautiful,” Serena, said, leading the way into her cottage, which was tucked away out of sight of the main house and visitors’ parking area.

“Wow! This is gorgeous!” exclaimed Bernie once she got inside. The cottage, usually rented out as a holiday home, had a cosy feel, decorated in timeless chic with wooden beams, plain washed walls and tasteful furniture. Serena moved into the kitchen seeking a vase, and Bernie followed. The kitchen had an Aga stove and beautiful wooden cupboards, and a large window through which the sun was radiating warmth and light. Bernie felt the tension of anticipation leaving her. She could do this. Serena found a vase and arranged the flowers carefully.

“Would you like the tour? It’s not huge, but it’s comfortable,” and before Bernie could think of a response, she found herself being led back towards the living room and up a steep wooden staircase. From the rear, Bernie was made uncomfortably aware that Serena ascending the staircase looked even sexier than she did from the front.

_Stop it, Wolfe!_

The bedroom, under the beams of the roof, had a new ensuite bathroom, and although simple in design, it looked supremely comfortable. Bernie nodded her appreciation.

“I suppose it gives you exercise climbing those stairs every time you want to use the bathroom,” she remarked, but Serena laughed. “Oh no, there’s a downstairs loo. This part is quite new. They had to take the roof off and raise it to accommodate the bedroom-bathroom combo. This is a retrofit.”

“I was admiring the bathtub,” Bernie confessed. “I’m amazed they managed to get one in but it must be a luxury being able to have a bath occasionally.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and Serena turned to look at her. There was total sincerity in her eyes as she said “Well, you know, you’re always welcome to come and use it.”

Bernie smiled wrily “Well thank you, Serena, but I suspect that by the time I feel the need to use it, I may be unable to climb the stairs!”

“Perhaps you should consider using it for maintenance, you know, as opposed to a damage fix?”

Bernie was saved from having to answer by a knock on the door and a woman’s voice calling

“Serena?”

Serena turned from Bernie and went to answer the door. Marie-Ange popped her head inside.

“ _Bonjour Marie-Ange_ \- oh, let me present you- this is our new _gynécologue_ , Dr. Berenice Wolfe. Bernie, this is Marie-Ange, co-owner of the vineyard.”

Marie-Ange’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she smiled charmingly and extended her hand.

“ _Enchantée, Docteur Wolfe_. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Bernie mumbled back greetings and smiled awkwardly. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Marie-Ange absolutely _insisted_ that Bernie and Serena join them for lunch at the main house.

“We are preparing for the harvest in a week or so, so today is a special lunch. After this, everyone will be too busy to come together on Sunday and spend time relaxing.”

Serena looked at Bernie with some concern, but Bernie knew her duty. She was a member of the community and she needed them as much as they needed her. Besides, as Marie-Ange was at pains to point out, _le Docteur Bouchard_ was a frequent guest.

In the event, it was better than Bernie had feared. The family was loud and rambunctious. The husband, René, uncorking bottles of the vineyard’s finest as fast as they were emptied, and their teenage offspring demonstrating a remarkably good command of English. Marie-Ange made sure to seat Marc, their eldest, who had just got his _Baccalauréat_ and would soon be off on a gap year to work in a South Australian winery, opposite Bernie, and so the stress of listening to French and trying to find suitable conversation was greatly reduced. In the gaps in the conversation with Marc, as they applied themselves to the superb roast duck, Bernie heard Serena joking with and being teased by René, and the couple’s sixteen-year old daughter, Lola.

“We’re lucky, Serena, to have got a woman gynaecologist finally,” Marie-Ange broke in. “When Dr. Bouchard first came here, there were some women that didn’t want to go to him because he’s a man.”

“What?” Serena laughed, “really?”

“Oh we’re still a bit behind the times here – some men, especially in the more religious families, aren’t happy to have their wives seeing a male gynaecologist.”

“But the other doctor is a man, too.”

“But he’s old, that seems to be less of a problem. And he delivered some of the husbands as well as their children so he’s a fixture in the town. Dr. Bouchard is much younger, and a foreigner.”

“But everyone knows Jax is gay,” Lola interjected.

“Lola!” exclaimed her mother, causing Bernie to sit up and pay attention.

“ _Mais c’est évident, maman, il est gay, et tout le monde le sait !_ ”

Serena shrugged, “It doesn’t matter whether he’s gay, straight, bisexual - he’s a qualified doctor, and that’s all that matters.”

“Well it’s a good thing he’s a gynaecologist and doesn’t have to poke around with the guys’ private parts,” Lola sniggered, pushing her knife and fork aside as her mother shrugged, _teenagers, what could you do with them?_ and Serena smiled.

Bernie understood all this and could feel her cheeks getting warm. She went to pick up her glass, noticing that it was once again full, and took a healthy swig, thinking she could blame the state of her cheeks on the wine. Marie-Ange reached over and patted her hand.

“Well, I’m very fond of Dr. Bouchard, but it’s really nice to have a woman working here as well. Catherine has told me that you’re very popular with the patients.”

“Oh..um..really? Well, that’s good,” was all Bernie could manage.

“And so nice for Serena to find a friend here,” she gushed.

Serena coughed. “Well, I’m still technically a patient, but not for long I hope. Then we can perhaps socialise a bit more.”

“Oh pfffff,” Marie-Ange said. “This is a small town. No one cares if you’re friends with your doctor.”

Bernie’s nervous gaze suddenly locked with Serena’s. Her warm brown eyes radiated humour and understanding. She winked and Bernie dropped her eyes as Marie-Ange switched the subject to the previous day’s accident, and the recklessness of young people with motorbikes.

By the time they got up from the table and had kissed everyone goodbye, it was well past four pm and Bernie could feel the effects of the wine. She had drunk far more than she was used to in the middle of the day, and, with dismay, realised she would not be able to drive back like this. Serena clearly felt the same, as she said: “Why don’t we go for a walk round the vineyard and I can show you the work we do? Then I’ll make us some strong coffee. You should be fine to drive after that, there are no police around on a Sunday afternoon.”

“Am I so obviously inebriated?”

“No, not at all. But I saw how René was filling your glass every five minutes, and I got the same treatment. I wouldn’t be taking to the roads right now, I can assure you.”

Bernie smiled her agreement and the two women took their leave of the family. It was almost three hours later when Bernie finally said her farewells, and by then she had discovered that, in addition to her physical charms, Serena Campbell was also excellent company.

“This has been a really enjoyable day, Serena. Thank you so much for inviting me. Also interesting to meet the family here.”

“Yes, you need to get the stamp of approval from the community. Everyone will know about it by tomorrow lunchtime, I’m sure,” Serena responded drily.

“I suppose I have to get used to it,” Bernie remarked wistfully.

“And look, Bernie, I know I’m still technically your patient, but if you’d like to be friends, well, once the results come back…”

“Negative,” Bernie said firmly. “I’m obliged to send samples, but I can assure you I know what I saw under the microscope.”

“So there we are. How about lunch on Wednesday? That’s when I’m next in town for shopping.”

“Um, yes, in principle that sounds fine. But let’s confirm later. Lunchtimes can sometimes be unpredictable.”

“Absolutely.” Serena’s smile warmed Bernie right down to her toes and Bernie had to break her gaze. She was so completely unused to interacting normally around people in a non-professional context that it was hard for her to read Serena’s intentions.

Then Serena leaned over and brushed her lips against Bernie’s cheek. Bernie was taken by surprise and hastily backed away towards the door…

“B-b-bye, Serena. Thanks again. See you next week,” and she shot off like a frightened rabbit, much to Serena’s amusement.

Bernie unlocked her car with shaking hands and collapsed into the driver’s seat. What an idiot she was. A kiss on the cheek. Perfectly normal stuff, the French did it all the time. But she had now learned one more thing about Serena Campbell to add to her growing list: she smelled wonderful.


	6. The Dirt Beneath the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena mets Bernie for lunch and accidentally overhears part of a conversation that opens up a new angle on Bernie's life. Serena nearly screws everything up, but manages to save the situation. In the end the lunch is successful, and Serena has a new ally in the restaurant owner whose daughter she tutors. Meanwhile, Bernie continues to have a bad week, culminating in a disaster she could not have predicted but for which she is not to blame.

Serena told herself she wasn’t really counting the days till Wednesday, but as Monday and Tuesday were full-on preparing for harvest and the influx of seasonal workers, Wednesday was a welcome gap in her schedule. At 11am she texted Bernie:

_Is lunch looking possible? If so, how long do you have?_

She had to wait 20 minutes for an answer.

_Looks all clear from 1.30 -3.00 at this point._

Serena thought quickly. She didn’t want to go back to one of the cafes where they had met previously, and where the owners and patrons would talk about them (although why that seemed important, she couldn’t say), then she remembered Lola’s friend, Souad, who had given her the card for her parents’ Moroccan restaurant, located just off the main grid. It was no more than a 5 -minute walk from the hospital, so Serena texted back:

_Suggest new place for lunch – close to hospital. Chez Naïma, Rue Girard No. 5. I’ll book a table for 1.30._

Bernie accepted - _See you there._

She told herself that she didn’t need to dress up, this was just lunch with a friend. But she added a squirt more perfume than she would naturally use, changed her earrings for something a little more sparkly, and chose a close-fitting navy camisole under an aqua silk blouse. Serena had intended to arrive a few minutes early, but road works on the high street meant she had to detour to find a parking space and it was 1.35 when she arrived, out of breath from almost jogging from the car.

The restaurant was half-full and Bernie was already seated at a table, talking on her phone, so instead of dashing over, Serena slowed her pace and made for the bar, to give Bernie privacy. She couldn’t help noticing as she passed that Bernie’s face wore a look of deep distress and that her eyes were watery. Concerned, Serena moved past her and sat on a stool. The owner, Naïma it must be, had come to the counter so Serena introduced herself, explaining how she had got the card of the restaurant, and what a nice girl Souad was. Naïma, a vivacious woman in a lime green dress with flashing hazel eyes, was warm and welcoming.

“Oh Souad is always talking about you- the Englishwoman with the beautiful voice, she says.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Serena smiled. “I practise English with Souad, she’s really very good, she and Lola both.”

Naïma laughed, clearly pleased. “They’re inseparable those two. But it’s good for Souad to have a close friend. Now let me get you a menu to look at while your friend finishes her conversation”, and she ducked out of sight. Serena half-turned to check on Bernie, and in the sudden silence she heard Bernie say “Well I’m sorry, I don’t know how many times I have to say that, but I really, truly am.” Her voice seemed to be breaking and Serena felt a stab of pain.

“And now I must go,” Bernie concluded and jabbed her phone, putting it down on the table just as Naïma returned holding two menus.

“This is today’s lunch menu- items two and four are finished but we have plenty of everything else, so take your time,” clearly referring to Bernie’s obvious distress.

Serena walked slowly to the table, dropping the menus and putting a hand gently on Bernie’s shoulder which was trembling slightly.

“Serena, hi,” Bernie said, trying to smile through waterlogged eyes and swiping at her face with the back of her hand.

Serena drew a pack of tissues from her bag and offered them to Bernie. “Has something happened?” she asked.

“No, well not really. It’s just my daughter. She hates me. I don’t know how we’ll ever get over it.”

Serena smiled sympathetically. “Well, if you want to talk about it….?” she offered, but Bernie shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“No, let’s not spoil the day. Let’s order lunch,” and she took up the menu.

From one glance at the menu Serena knew that _Chez Naïma_ could soon become her new favourite place. The daily specials were all light, fresh and featured a range of interesting ingredients.

“Naïma said that number two- the lemon chicken kebabs and number 4- the fish pastilla are finished, but everything else is available.”

“Mmm this does look good,” Bernie observed. “I got quite addicted to Middle Eastern food and this isn’t so different.”

Naïma suddenly appeared by their side. “Have you chosen, ladies?”

“Well I’m having the fish chermoula and salad,” Serena said.

“And I’ll try the lamb mechoui wrap. How spicy is the harissa sauce?”

“As spicy as you like it,” Naïma twinkled. “French people usually prefer the milder version but I keep a batch of the really hot stuff for experts.”

“Oh yes, please,” Bernie said. “And iced mint tea, please. “

“Two?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Serena said.

“Good choice, ladies,” Naïma said, walking away.

They made small talk until the food came, then they tucked in greedily. It was really excellent. Finally, scooping up the last of the hot sauce with her pitta and wiping her plate, Bernie started to open up.

“My son is planning to visit me soon,” she said, popping in the last mouthful.

“I thought from what you said before that both your children were …having issues with you.”

Bernie swallowed and took a drink of tea. “Well, they did, but my son, Cameron- he’s at medical school- seems to have come round more easily. It helps that he never really got on with his father.”

“Right. Well, that will be great, to have him here,” Serena said warmly.

“Yes. That was him on the phone…at first. He was with Charlotte, and he wanted her to talk to me. Bad idea, it seems.” She sighed.

Serena stayed silent and drank some tea, keeping her eyes on Bernie, knowing that she would eventually talk.

“I…the end of my marriage was…painful,” she admitted, toying with the edge of her cork coaster.

Serena raised her eyebrows. “Whose isn’t?” she asked.

“Well, it needn’t have been if I’d been honest, but I ..well, I was a coward. I told Marcus I wanted a divorce because we’d grown apart, but then he found out I’d had an affair with a …. a fellow officer, and ..well……,” her voice tailed off.

Serena’s face had darkened. “Yes, I suppose infidelity does hit hard,” she said, “speaking as a wife whose husband shagged everything that moved. The humiliation can be difficult to bear.” This came out much more tartly than she had intended and for a minute, Bernie just looked at Serena with a frozen expression. Then she found her voice.

“It wasn’t ..like that. I didn’t make a habit of having affairs. The other officer was a woman, and it was only then I realised that I was ..had always been ..gay.” She looked down.

Serena silently cursed her sharp tongue. Bernie had gone very pale and was pulling cork bits off the coaster again. Suddenly Naïma appeared at the table.

“Everything OK ladies? Can I tempt you with some dessert?”

Bernie looked up. “No, thank you, Naïma, that was delicious but I have to go,” and she pushed back her chair and pulled out her wallet.

“Bernie, wait,” Serena’s hand shot out to grip Bernie’s arm.

“I’m so sorry I said that,” she said in English, as Naïma stood looking from one to the other. “ _Je reviens dans cinq minutes_ ,” she said, tactfully moving away.

Bernie’s jaw was working, evidence of her attempt to keep her emotions under control.

“Sit down, Bernie,” Serena said quietly. “Don’t leave like this. Let me apologise properly.”

Not making eye contact, Bernie sat back down, clutching her bag on her knees.

“That was insensitive and unkind of me. I had a very bad divorce and a horrible time with my ex and, well, that experience has made me rather prickly where infidelity is concerned, but in your case, it’s completely different. I’m so sorry you had to spend all those years struggling in a marriage you felt wasn’t right. It must have been very difficult.”

Bernie didn’t answer at first, but put her bag on a chair and went back to torturing the coaster. “The affair wasn’t the reason for the divorce,” she said finally in a tight voice. “And it was over before I decided to end the marriage. It just …clarified things for me.”

Serena reached out to put her hand on Bernie’s. “Please forgive my unkindness and share a dessert with me. The _brik_ is fabulous.”

When Bernie looked up, Serena tried to project as much warmth as she could muster into her smile and was rewarded with a twitch of Bernie’s lips. “I could be tempted,” she said. “I don’t know what it is but I trust your judgement. And apology accepted.”

Serena felt relieved as she called a passing waitress over to clear their plates and order the dessert. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, then Naïma brought the dessert. It looked rather like a millefeuille, but with filo pastry. There were two forks on the plate, which Naïma set down with a twinkle in her eye.

“Enjoy, ladies. This is my homemade invention. I hope you like it.”

“I’ve had it before,” Serena confessed. “Souad brought some to the vineyard when we had an English session. It’s absolutely delicious!”

“Good. And can I offer you some coffee? On the house.”

“That would be lovely,” Bernie said, eyeing the dessert with great interest. To keep the mood positive and get things back on track, Serena explained that ‘brik’ referred to the pastry and that there were many versions of it, from Tunisia and Algeria as well as Morocco. Souad had explained that it was more common to find the savoury versions, but that in Marrakesh, where her parents were from, there was also a sweet tradition.

Bernie had dug in with her fork. “Oh wow this is divine,” she said. Between the light pastry layers there was a fluffy _crême patissière_ and a fresh raspberry puree. The pastry had been dusted in icing sugar and cinnamon and oversprinkled with orange flower water. It was, as Bernie said, divine. By the time Naïma came back with the coffee, the mood had lightened considerably.

“I hope everything was satisfactory,” Naïma said, putting down the little brass tray on which was an engraved silver coffee pot and two small cups, two foil- wrapped chocolates rounding off the presentation.

“It was wonderful,” Serena told her. “I’ll be back for sure.”

“Me, too,” added Bernie. “Do you make everything yourself?”

“Well, not by myself, no,” Naïma laughed. “My partner is the main chef, actually. And he’s not even Moroccan.”

“But I thought Souad said both her parents came from Marrakesh?” Serena was surprised.

“Yes, we do. My ex-husband, her father, works for the Moroccan Consulate in Toulouse. We’ve been divorced for ten years. I’ve been with Philippe, who’s from Belgium, for seven years. It’s a strange coincidence, but he spent ten years in Marrakesh working in hotels and restaurants. “

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Serena smiled. “And what a great restaurant! I’m going to tell everyone I know about it.”

“Well as you’ve been so good to my daughter, who thinks the world of you, by the way, here’s a 20% discount voucher, Serena. It’s valid for a year starting today, so please feel free to bring your friends here and they can also benefit.”

“Are you sure?” Serena was startled. “20% seems high. Won’t you lose a lot of money?”

“Well of course we want to make profit, but we do very well, we run the patisserie next door as well, and my main aim in life is to have satisfied customers. A happy daughter is a bonus. So enjoy, ladies!” and she sauntered off.

Bernie had begun pulling the foil off the chocolate. “Oh..mint crisp! One of my favourites,” and she began munching happily. Serena poured coffee and moved her chocolate to Bernie’s saucer.

“Don’t you want yours?” Bernie asked, astonished.

Serena smiled and shook her head. Bernie unwrapped the second chocolate and held it out to Serena.

“Well at least have a bite!”

Serena looked up into the warmth of Bernie’s gaze and, with a small nod of acceptance, moved her mouth towards the chocolate. Bernie was right. It was exquisite. In fact, Serena almost regretted having given it away, but as Bernie moved the chocolate back into her own mouth, the frisson of sensual delight that ran down Serena’s spine was well worth the sacrifice.

Serena tried to hide her reaction in her coffee cup and by the time the waitress dropped the bill onto the table, she had recovered her composure.

Bernie started hunting in her wallet, but Serena stayed her hand.

“Put that away, Bernie. This is on me. It was my treat from the start, but doubly so since I managed to upset you with my insensitivity. Please, let’s put all that behind us, eh?”

Bernie inclined her head. “Yes, and I hope that means we can come here again. I love this place.”

“And with a 20% discount, what’s not to love?” Serena smiled her best smile, which Bernie returned warmly.

“Well, I’m leaving a tip”, she said, dropping a 5 euro note on the table. “And I really have to dash now,” she said, “there’s paperwork to catch up on. Not that I’m looking forward to it, you understand, but …”

“Oh, I know all about paperwork,” Serena interjected. “You get to it, Dr. Wolfe….or is it Ms? They don’t seem to use the same forms of address here. What was your rank in the RAMC by the way?”

“Oh.um..Major,” Bernie seemed surprised.

“Right, Major, you run along, and we’ll be in touch,” Serena said.

Suddenly, without warning, Serena felt Bernie’s lips brush her cheek, then she was gathering her bag and pushing her chair back, all long limbs and slightly flushed skin. Serena sat watching her, the faint scent of Bernie’s herbal shampoo in her nostrils and the lingering buzz of her kiss. She hardly noticed when Naima materialised next to her with a credit card reader in her hand.

“Friend of yours from home?” she asked matter of factly.

“Oh no….she’s the new ob-gyn consultant at the hospital,” Serena said distractedly. Naïma’s eyebrows raised a fraction.

“Covering for Docteur Bouchard?”

Serena nodded, pulling her credit card from her wallet and handing it to the owner. Then a thought struck her.

“Naïma, Dr. Wolfe and I just want to find a place where we can meet and talk away from her patients. It’s difficult being a foreigner in a small town, especially in a job like Dr. Wolfe’s. She needs a private space from time to time, you understand?”

Naïma did not meet Serena’s gaze as she fed the card into the reader and held it out for her to enter her pin, but she said “Oh, believe me, I do.” Then, handing the receipt to Serena, she winked and said “You’re both welcome here any time, and nothing leaves this room.”

***

Bernie found it hard to concentrate on her paperwork that afternoon. The patient round started again at 5.30 and she had barely managed to finish the most urgent of her tasks. Her mind kept replaying the moment when Serena had changed her demeanour and begged her to stay. The preachy sermon on infidelity had hardly been a surprise to Bernie, whose life experience had conditioned her to expect censure more often than praise, but the way Serena had tried so hard to overcome it, to keep her friendship and empathise with her situation was both new and different. Bernie felt flustered when she thought of Serena as a patient. The examinations she had conducted had been purely professional, as a doctor she was able to separate the condition from the person, but now that the boundaries had been eroded by recent experience, she knew for certain that she could not treat Serena again. Once the results came in from the lab in Lyon -results she was 99.9% sure were negative- this would conclude their professional relationship.

The following two days were busy and exhausting- Bernie had elective surgeries every morning and on Friday afternoon, she was pulled into an emergency when a woman who had tried to give birth at home experienced a placental abruption, a condition at first undiagnosed by her midwife, and later denied by her husband, who insisted on attempting a home delivery. The midwife finally prevailed, but by the time they reached the hospital, Bernie had been unable to save the mother, who bled out despite all the transfusions, and her calling in the hospital’s top general surgeon to assist. Her wretchedness was not helped by the woman’s husband, who insisted on making loud accusatory statements and threatening to call the press. Her one consolation was that she had managed to extract the child during an emergency Caesarean, and he was now in the ICU on an incubator. Yves Charpentier, the head of the surgical team, praised her exceptional skill in saving the child and assured her that he would stand by her in the event of any inquiry. Nevertheless, Bernie felt she had failed, and she had been unable to face those patients still waiting for her in evening surgery, so Sylvie and Catherine arranged for some to be rescheduled and a couple to be seen by Jean-Claude.

By the time she reached her small apartment, Bernie felt that she was sliding back down to rock bottom. Her back hurt, she had no appetite for food and she had the woman’s last moments running on a loop in her head. When her phone rang and she saw Serena’s name on the screen, she panicked. She cut the call and texted that she was unable to talk because of an emergency surgery. Knowing that Serena was anxious for the results of her test, she added that the report had not yet come in but that she should call back on Monday. Then she had dropped her phone and poured herself a whisky.

Two hours later, Bernie was fuzzy but not yet drunk. At some point between the third and fourth whisky shot she had managed to make herself an omelette, and, once she had eaten it, she had simply collapsed on her sofa staring into space. When her phone buzzed with the message “How did it go? Do you want to talk about it?”, she was sufficiently unwound not to think too hard before calling Serena and pouring out the events of the afternoon. Just the act of talking to someone, another surgeon, in English, was a blessed relief.

“Bernie, from what you’ve told me, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. In fact, you went over and above to save the child. We can’t always put right what others have previously done wrong, and the husband at least has a lot to answer for.”

Bernie was silent.

“Do you want me to come over?”, Serena asked, sensing Bernie’s anguish and her feeling of personal failure.

“No, no, I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Her reaction was instinctive. Surrendering to a feeling of helplessness was more than she could bear, however much she craved Serena’s healing touch. In her current state, that could be dangerous.

“OK, but remember, if your back’s hurting, I can help.”

“I know. Serena. And thank you. But this is just a bad day. I’m going to bed now. Tomorrow everything will be different.”

“I hope so, Bernie. But remember I’m here if you need.”

“Thank you, Serena, I really appreciate it. I’ll call you in a few days.”


	7. The Moon Pulling Closer: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena panics when her body unexpectedly fails her, and she turns to Bernie for help. Although Bernie doesn't think it's serious she is compelled to give Serena as much support and comfort as she needs. They end up spending longer together than planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the following one stray into medical territory that may strain credibility, so you'd better put any superior scientific knowledge you may have on hold while this plays out.

So caught up was she with the beginning of the harvest, Serena didn’t see or speak to Bernie again until Monday morning, when Bernie called her to say the results had come in and were, as expected, negative. That was a relief, but it also meant that Serena had no reason to meet Bernie unless she engineered it. With her working days stretching from 6am till around 8pm with only short breaks, till the main grape picking and sorting had been achieved, Serena found that she was too exhausted to think about anything else. She had come to St. Julien on a wine tour originally, and after meeting Marie-Ange and explaining her interest in wine, especially the Syrah (Shiraz) grape, the family had persuaded her to stay through the harvest in their cottage and work with the vineyard staff to observe the process. The cottage came with the job, and Serena had considered it an excellent deal at the time. The prospect of another 4-6 weeks of this, however, made her realise that her social horizons would be extremely limited, just when she had wanted to broaden them a little.

By Friday of the first week of the harvest, Serena was seriously wondering if she had the stamina for this. She had rotated jobs from grape picking, to reception and sorting and cleaning. There was so much cleaning! Just before 11am, after 5 hours’ hard work, Serena stopped for a coffee and a bathroom break and had a shock. She was bleeding, heavily it seemed and blood had already soaked through her underwear and capris, which, fortunately, were black. Marie-Ange was in the kitchen supervising the late morning coffee break and Serena quietly took her to one side and explained that she needed to go and deal with this. She was also aware of a nagging pain in her lower back and pelvic area that was sickeningly familiar. She had had no periods for three months and even before that, they had been light and sporadic for some time.

_“Tu t’es surmenée,_ Serena, you’ve overdone it you are not one of the young pickers. Take as much time as you like, rest, and call Dr. Wolfe to make sure there’s nothing serious.”

As Serena made her way back to the cottage, she told herself she was overreacting. This kind of thing was common with the onset of the menopause, yet she had assumed her periods had stopped. As she stripped and showered, she imagined what she might say to a patient complaining of the same thing. Doubtless something along the lines of “Pull yourself together, woman,” she admitted ruefully. Which is probably what Bernie would say to her if she showed up at the hospital. But being alone in a foreign country, she felt somewhat panicky and in need of advice. Once dressed in comfortable sweats, and fortified with tea and painkillers, Serena did an internet search, which only told her what she already knew, that perimenopause could drag on with irregular periods for quite some time. Then there was a list of conditions on which patients were advised to seek medical advice. Serena snapped her laptop shut. That would never do, imagining the worst. But two hours later she was still bleeding heavily, and the worry worm was gnawing at her insides. Finally, hoping Bernie’s midday appointments were now over, she sent a text.

_Could you give me a call when you’re free? I need a bit of medical advice._

Within five minutes, her phone was ringing. “Serena, how can I help?”

At the sound of Bernie’s calm voice, Serena felt a rush of relief, her words tumbling out as she explained her concerns.

“I didn’t want to make an appointment and waste your time…but…”

“You’re worried, I understand”, Bernie reassured her. “You know, of course, that if your periods haven’t stopped definitively, it means you’re still in late perimenopause. This sometimes happens- the stopping and starting. You may have other symptoms of menopause but they may also start before the periods stop, so it’s a bit of a game, waiting to see what happens.”

“And what if it’s not normal?” Serena asked. “I may be a doctor, but this seems much heavier than I’ve had in the past, alarming even.”

“Well, as you’re certainly aware, irregular, heavy bleeding could be a symptom of numerous other conditions, but at this point, given the information you’ve provided to me, and the tests we did two weeks ago, let’s stick with the probability of the menopausal transition period for now. What I’d like to do is run a few blood tests to check some markers so we have a better idea of where we are, and whether you need any supplementation. For that I need you to come in tomorrow before 8.30 am to take a fasting sample, is that OK?

“Yes, sure,” Serena replied.

“And meanwhile, rest, take it easy and let’s see how you progress overnight.”

“Thank you, Bernie, you’ve been a great help. I probably just needed someone to talk to about it,” Serena said, suddenly embarrassed by her own weakness.

“Any time, Serena. Don’t hesitate, you’ve done the same for me, after all,” Bernie chuckled.

“See you in the morning, take care!”

When she put the phone down, Serena felt suddenly lonely. Her cramps had lessened with the painkillers she’d taken, so after a light lunch she decided to go and help Marie-Ange with more cleaning, preferring that to sitting around worrying all afternoon. Marie-Ange clucked and fussed, but it was far better, Serena decided, to be back in the team and trying at least to pull her weight. Her energy lasted all of three hours; by six pm she was exhausted and Marie-Ange packed her off again to rest. Serena now needed another shower, and, as she loaded the washing machine afterwards, she pushed down the feeling of panic at seeing that the flow was still fairly copious. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, she thought, collapsing on her sofa with a cup of chamomile tea. She must have dozed off because she was awakened by the sound of knocking. At first she thought it was in her dream, then the sound repeated, and she was dimly aware that someone was actually outside. She struggled to her feet, glancing at her watch. It was almost 8.30, so she had been asleep for almost 90 minutes. It must be Marie-Ange, coming to check on her, she thought, stumbling to the door. But she was wrong.

***

When Bernie’s last patient had departed at 7.45pm, there was a text from Cameron waiting on her phone. He had arrived the previous Monday evening, and had already started going his own way while she worked. The latest message was an example.

_Madre, going to watch the football in the Sports Bar. Don’t wait up!_

Bernie’s thoughts went immediately to Serena, alone in her cottage, worried and maybe in pain. She was also a very long way from a supermarket or a pharmacy. Before she could start questioning her own motives, Bernie was in her car heading out of St. Julien, stopping briefly at a late night Carrefour Express to pick up night-grade sanitary pads and a half bottle of whisky, then hitting the long country road towards the vineyard. The momentum took her all the way to Serena’s front door, then, as she saw the light on inside, reality struck. What would Serena think, her coming all this way so late, when they had already arranged to meet in the morning? Quelling the urge to run away, Bernie knocked firmly on the door. If Serena wasn’t happy to see her, she wouldn’t stay. She told herself she was just dropping in on a patient…

“Bernie!” Serena exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d drop off some provisions and check on my patient,” she said, holding up her parcels and forcing some joviality into her voice.

Serena seemed stunned. Her face was red on one side and her hair was sticking up in adorable little tufts. She was also free of make-up and dressed in a loose top and cotton joggers. Bernie thought she looked even more beautiful. As she stood aside for Bernie to enter, her breasts swung gently beneath the top. Bernie felt her face getting hot.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” she asked, to cover her confusion.

“I must have dozed off on the sofa,” Serena said, rubbing her face, “but thank you, thank you for coming. Do make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back,” and she went into the downstairs bathroom while Bernie put her parcels on the coffee table and removed her jacket before sitting on the sofa. When Serena returned, she had obviously splashed her face with cold water because she looked more focused, and her hair was no longer sticking up.

“Can I get you some tea…or wine….or something?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine, just sit here and tell me how you are,” Bernie said, patting the space next to her. So Serena did, and Bernie listened, relieved that things had not worsened since their earlier conversation.

“So it seems to be slowing a little now,” Serena concluded, then, spotting Bernie’s parcel, she added “Oh, Bernie that’s so thoughtful, thank you. I was about to run out as I had just a small stock with me. The supermarket would have been my first stop tomorrow.” Then she saw the other item in the bag. “And what’s this? Whisky?”

“I was thinking you might like a hot toddy…..or something,” Bernie ended lamely.

Serena smiled warmly. “You’re such a sweetie, and actually I had been thinking about that, but hey, you’ve just come from work and haven’t eaten. And neither have I….we can’t drink whisky on an empty stomach.”

“Oh I’m OK….” Bernie started to say, but Serena silenced her. “Nonsense. Now you’re here, I’ll make us something to eat. Then you can join me in a whisky afterwards.” She got to her feet and moved towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out drawers.”

“Don’t go to any trouble for me,” Bernie said.

“I wasn't planning to. Come and give me a hand,” Serena said.

So Bernie found herself standing at Serena’s worktop chopping radishes, cucumbers, spring onions and tomatoes while Serena expertly cracked and separated four eggs, whisking the whites to soft peaks, then folding them into the yolks, seasoning with salt, black pepper and mixed herbs and slipping the mixture into a hot buttered pan. While the bottom cooked, she grated Gruyère over the top, then folded the whole thing in half, flipped it over to make sure it was properly cooked and cut it into two parts, sliding them onto two plates, adding a handful of rocket to each plate. Then she turned to Bernie, who was watching her in amazement.

“Salad done?” she asked, as Bernie indicated her chopping board. Serena scooped the chopped salad into small bowls and put them on the table with a small jar of homemade French dressing, adding half a fresh, crusty baguette, and indicated for Bernie to sit. Watching Serena so effortlessly produce a simple but beautiful meal made Bernie all too aware of her own culinary shortcomings. The omelette, of course, was perfect- light, fluffy and very tasty. A far cry from the limp, plain thing Bernie had made the previous week.

“I would normally have wine, but tonight, after taking painkillers, I’ll pass,” Serena said. “A whisky later will be fine.”

“No problem,” Bernie said. “I have to drive anyway. And this is just delicious, Serena. I never thought of whisking the eggs like that.”

“It’s something my mother taught me,” Serena admitted, scooping up salad and dressing with the baguette. “She was French, although she had lived most of her life in England. She was a very fussy cook, so I guess some of that has rubbed off.”

They chatted about mothers for a few minutes as they finished the food, then a thought struck Serena.

“Has your son arrived yet? You said he was coming.”

“Oh yes. But he’s already fed up hanging around waiting for me. He’s out sampling the nightlife of St. Julien.”

“Such as it is,” Serena observed drily.

“Yes, it seems to consist of bars where groups of young people go to play pool and watch football on giant screens.”

“And he came all this way to do that?”

“Well, he supposedly came to see me, but I’m working and I’m sure he’s bored with me already. The thing is he has this one month break between finishing his exams at medical school and starting his F1 year. I can’t imagine he’ll stick around here too long but he doesn’t want to be in England, or near his father. Marcus has an unfortunate tendency to interfere. He’s trying to get Cameron a place at St. James- that’s the hospital he works at in Holby. But Cam has his heart set on London.”

“Holby?” Serena asked, startled. “But that’s where I’m from. Or rather, where I worked-still work I suppose. Holby City hospital. What a coincidence!”

“That’s amazing!” Bernie said, sitting back in her chair. “I mean what are the odds of meeting another surgeon from Holby in rural France?”

“Have you ever worked there?”

“I’ve pulled a few shifts at St. James’, but working with Marcus was never a good idea. When I was with the RAMC I only used to go there for leave periods, when Marcus got the job at St. James, and moved into his mother’s house after she died, about five years ago. But I’ve never been to Holby City hospital.”

“Marcus- that wouldn’t be Marcus Dunn by any chance? Orthopaedic surgeon?”

“Yes, that’s him. Have you met?”

“Mm..once or twice. Hospital functions and what have you,” Serena answered vaguely, remembering a fairly nondescript man who got over-animated about prosthetic limbs after a few glasses of wine.

“So what do you think Cameron will do to pass the time?” Serena tried to change the subject.

“Oh, I don’t know. Move on, backpack around, whatever it is that twenty-somethings do these days.”

“Do you think he’d fancy working in a vineyard?” asked Serena, an idea forming slowly in her head.

“He might. Why not?”

“It comes with a bunk in the seasonal worker’s dorm. All fun and games from what I hear.”

“Are there spaces available?” Bernie asked, beginning to see that Serena was serious.

“Oh yes, there’s me for starters. I can’t keep up this pace for four or more weeks. Goodness, this last week nearly killed me. Besides, I’d quite like some time to myself as well. I was planning to tell Marie-Ange I’d prefer to work three days per week and pay her 50% of the cottage rental. I’m sure she’d rather have a fit young man in her team and I know there’s space in the dorm. Look,” Serena said, seeing Bernie’s hesitation and taking her hand, “why don’t you bring Cameron out here to meet everyone and see how he feels? Tomorrow’s Saturday- the young people have some sort of party – crates of beer, from what I’m told, and a barbecue. Bring him over and let him join in,” and she gave Bernie’s hand a little squeeze of encouragement.

Bernie was trying to keep her mind on Cameron rather than the tingle in her hand, but she could see no flaws in the idea. “OK I’ll ask him,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Now let’s get cleared up. I’ll wash, you wipe.”

Bernie knew she should go home, but when Serena made them each a hot whisky with honey and lemon, she didn’t refuse. She was so unused to this feeling of comfort and ease that she didn’t take much persuading to stay a little longer.

“Would you like to watch a film or something?” Serena asked. “I have a few DVDs and there’s a player.”

Bernie just shrugged, having no idea about films. “Whatever you’d like,” she said. So Serena chose an old romcom with Hugh Grant, and they settled down to watch, content with the warmth of the whisky in their bellies and the soothing presence of the other. Bernie realised somewhat belatedly that she was more tired than she had thought and at some point, the film blurred before her eyes and she could feel herself drifting away. When she suddenly jerked awake, it was with a heavy weight on her shoulder, and she realised that Serena was fast asleep, her soft hair tickling Bernie’s nostrils. Bernie wriggled experimentally to see whether Serena would move, but then an arm snaked round her waist and Serena snuggled in deeper. Bernie gave in and closed her eyes, the feel of another warm body against hers unexpectedly luxurious. Serena fitted perfectly, her soft curves moulding to Bernie’s sharper angles. Bernie knew her back wouldn’t thank her for the position, but she had no energy or will to move, or to think too hard about what this might mean.

The next time she opened her eyes, the TV screen was black and Serena had somehow slipped down and was balanced on Bernie’s hip, having snared a cushion that she was using as a pillow. A dull pain in her back told Bernie that she was half-lying at an awkward angle, so she carefully extricated herself and lowered Serena’s cushion to the sofa without waking her. Spotting a blanket on the back of a chair, she then raised Serena’s legs so that she was lying curled on the sofa, and covered her with the blanket before stretching and looking at her watch. It was 2.15 am. They had been asleep for hours. Good God, what would Cameron think if she stayed out all night? Flustered, Bernie switched off the TV and DVD player, grabbed her car keys and, as an afterthought, went to the kitchen area where she drank down a glass of water and got one for Serena, to leave on the coffee table. She decided to leave and call Serena at 7.30 to wake her if necessary. Then she turned off the light and tiptoed out of the cottage to her car.


	8. The Moon Pulling Closer: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena goes to the hospital for her blood test, remembering that it's Saturday, which means Bernie is doing her a special favour. While they are there an emergency arises which needs both their expertise until the head surgeon can get there. This intervention has unexpected consequences for both of them.

Serena woke with the first rays of light filtering through the blinds, puzzled at first as to why she was lying on her sofa, then, as she stretched, registering the nagging pain in her lower belly, snapshots of the previous evening came back to her. Groaning, she dragged herself up the stairs to her ensuite, then took some painkillers and got into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. Her anxious mind searched for any hint of when Bernie must have left. How rude of her to fall asleep and leave her guest alone. Worse, what if she had fallen asleep on Bernie? How embarrassing would that be? Yet while she lay there trying to decide how best to greet her new friend this morning, she felt a sudden, deep stab of affection as she recalled Bernie’s kindness in coming to her, her comforting presence and smell, a mixture of something citrussy and something medical, which made sense, since she had come straight from the hospital. She saw in her mind’s eye those long legs in the tight skinny jeans and the taut muscles of her forearms as she had washed dishes with Serena. And now Serena was going to consult her again as a professional, and although she knew they were reaching a point at which it would not be appropriate, she didn’t care.

Realising that sleep was now impossible, she cancelled her alarm and got up, remembering just in time about the fasting blood test and foregoing her usual milky coffee for a pot of herbal tea, then sitting at the kitchen table with her phone, wondering whether she should call Bernie. Finally, at 7.20 she took the coward’s way out and texted:

_Woke up on the sofa. Whoops! Sorry for abandoning you, but thank you so much for coming. Hope you got back OK and got some sleep. I’ll be there for the bloods by 8.30. x_

Bernie was obviously up because the reply came quickly. _No worries! See you soon. x_

Serena didn’t think it odd that they had started putting kisses on their texts, but as she drove to the hospital it suddenly struck her that it was Saturday, and consultants didn’t work Saturdays unless there was an emergency or they were on call. So once again, Bernie was putting herself out for Serena. As she parked the car and headed for the main doors, Bernie came jogging up from the other side. She had a long T-shirt over her crop top for the sake of decency, but in her lycra running tights, hair tied back, face slightly flushed, she was still a sight to behold. Her appearance reinforced the idea that she was only coming in to do this one test for Serena, something a nurse could easily have done.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” were Bernie’s first words, while Serena groped for a response, momentarily overwhelmed both by Bernie’s solicitousness and by the jolt in her belly at the sight of Bernie in her jogging gear.

“Um..better, I think. It’s probably just wasting your time…” she started to say.

“Nonsense,” Bernie said, pushing open the door and heading for her office.

Once inside, she got Serena seated, then washed her hands and put on surgical gloves before getting out the blood testing kit, wrapping the strap around Serena’s arm and tapping to find a suitable vein.

“I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable last night,” she said shyly, looking up through her fringe.

“Gosh no, I was out for the count…thanks for covering me with the blanket and leaving some water, by the way. I’m just embarrassed that I was such poor company. What time did you leave?”

Bernie had swabbed the inside of Serena’s elbow and was now inserting the needle into a vein so she didn’t look up.

“It must have been after midnight. I think I dropped off myself after a while.”

“What a useless pair we are,” Serena laughed. Then, as Bernie pulled the needle out and asked Serena to press on the puncture site while she sealed and labelled the blood vials, Serena took advantage of her looking the other way to say with studied casualness, “I hope I ..er..didn’t fall asleep on you.”

Bernie said nothing for a minute, then, taking a Band Aid from her drawer, she gently covered the puncture wound and looked up briefly.

“Well if you did, I probably didn’t notice. I was pretty tired, too. In fact, I was worried about Cameron, if he had gone back to my flat and not found me there. But he didn’t show up till this morning, so I assume he found a more ..er comfortable bed than my sofa!”

“Good to know there actually IS nightlife in St. Julien,” Serena laughed, relieved.

“Apparently so. Now we’re done here- I’m dropping this at the lab with the paperwork I prepared yesterday, then I suggest we grab some coffee and breakfast. You must be starving, and so am I after that run.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Serena agreed, getting up.

“Wait for me by the lifts over there, I’ll be quick,” and they left the office together before going their separate ways.

The hospital corridors were almost deserted on this early Saturday morning and Bernie was soon back, ushering Serena through another door that she swiped with her pass. “It’s quicker to get out via the ED,” she said, “instead of going all the way back round to main reception”. However, as they rounded the corner into the ‘Urgences” reception area, there was a sudden commotion. A terrified-looking teenage boy was shouting for help, supporting a middle-aged man with a towel wrapped round his neck. Blood was pumping from a wound in his throat, it was all over the front of his shirt, and on the boy’s T-Shirt. The man was sagging, plainly on the verge of losing consciousness. The nurse on duty ran over to them in horror.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know..he’s my father..I found him like this..” the boy sobbed.

“Call Dr. Charpentier,” she yelled to her colleague, helping the boy to half-carry the man into a cubicle. Bernie and Serena stopped, transfixed. Serena could feel Bernie vibrating with energy, but waiting to see who would attend to the man. The second nurse returned.  
  
“He’ll be 30 minutes,” she said. “He’s on the tennis court.”

“So who do we have?” the Senior nurse asked brusquely.

“Dr. Fonseca is on duty- but he’s fixing a broken leg,” the nurse said.

“ _Merde,”_ muttered the Senior Nurse, when Bernie burst in, “I’m a surgeon and I’m Trauma trained. Can I help?” she held out her lanyard ID showing that she was a doctor on the hospital staff.

The Senior Nurse looked up, surprised. “Dr. Wolfe! _Mais vous êtes gynécologue_ “. 

Serena cut in “Dr. Wolfe is a highly trained specialist in all kinds of surgery- she used to work for the British Army in war zones. Let her help you.”

The woman looked surprised, but she nodded, and Bernie moved immediately to the bed, lifting off the towel and examining a large cut in the man’s neck.

“Oh Christ, he’s tried – or someone’s tried to cut his throat. We need to get him to theatre and repair this. Right now, or he’ll bleed out.”

Serena translated this for the nurse, and in seconds, she had dragged the on-duty doctor from the patient with the broken leg and wheeled in a trolley full of instruments, telling the other nurse to take the boy out of the way and find out more about what had happened.

“Prep for surgery,” Bernie instructed as soon as Dr. Maury Fonseca appeared. He hesitated. He was a young man clearly not long out of medical school. He looked terrified.

“But I can’t do this kind of surgery,” he protested.

“No, but Dr. Wolfe can,” Serena told him. “You just do as she says.”

“Serena, I need you, too,” Bernie said, as she and the Senior Nurse began attaching the man up to various kinds of equipment, and getting an IV line in.

“But I’m not licensed here…I can’t do anything.”

“No, but you’re a vascular surgeon, which we appear not to have at this moment. I’d like you in the observation room. I’ll take full responsibility. Help Dr. Fonseca and I to stabilise the patient until Dr. Charpentier gets here at least. And an interpreter might be useful”, she added.

So that’s how Serena found herself, before breakfast on a Saturday morning, standing in an observation room communicating with Bernie in the operating theatre over an intercom while Bernie commanded all those around her. Her calm and authority were deeply impressive. She was immediately focused and efficient. Serena could see how well the staff responded to her instructions and how they instinctively trusted her. Between them they got the patient stabilised and, with Serena’s instructions guiding Bernie, they started an interim repair to the severed artery. By the time Yves Charpentier had dropped his tennis racquet off and scrubbed in, the patient was stable.

“ _Mon Dieu,”_ Yves exclaimed, looking around the theatre. A gynaecologist, a junior doctor, an anaesthetist and one theatre nurse. Then he heard Serena’s voice on the intercom and looked up at the observation window. “ _Et c’est qui, ça_?”

“A vascular consultant from the UK,” Bernie replied, knowing he could speak English. “She was here for a test with me and we stepped in. If we hadn’t, this man would probably be dead by now. OK, Yves, he’s all yours,” and she stepped back to let him replace her.

Yves Charpentier looked down at the work done by the team so far and was very impressed.

“Not bad for a _gynéco_ ,” he remarked. “But then, I ‘ve had previous experience of your surgical skills, when we had that placental abruption last week. You have trauma training, you say?”

“I do. Twenty-five years mostly in war zones.”

“Then stay and help me with this repair,” he said. “I’m a General Surgeon, not a vascular specialist. We haven’t got one today so we have to do our best.”

“Why not let Serena scrub in? She could be more useful if she could actually see what we’re doing at close quarters.”

Yves hesitated. “I could get in big trouble for this, you know.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Bernie replied calmly. “Serena Campbell is surgical lead on an Acute Admissions Ward at a leading UK hospital and we can get all the proofs as soon as this is over. She doesn’t need to touch the patient, but I’d like her vascular expertise.” He nodded.

And so Serena found her sabbatical from surgery coming to a sudden and dramatic end as she was drafted in to assist in an emergency operation. An operation that was a resounding success, no less. As they were scrubbing out, leaving Dr. Fonseca to tidy up, Yves asked “How long have you two worked together? That was an amazing bit of team work, by the way.”

“Oh we've never worked together. We met here,” Serena replied. “I was a patient.”

Yves stood stock still, water dripping from his hands as he looked from Bernie to Serena.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” said Bernie.

“Which hospital do you work at in the UK, Serena?” he asked, now drying his hands.

“Holby City, she replied, to which he nodded. “Henrik Hanssen?”

“You know him?” Serena was astonished.

“He and I did a specialism together in Liverpool, oh, twenty years ago. We were in the same surgical team for that course and we stayed in touch. We’ve met occasionally at conferences- in the US, France, Sweden, the UK. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “So if you need paperwork for the medical board here, to explain my presence, just give Henrik a call and he’ll send whatever you require.”

They had by now moved into the corridor, heading for the locker room. Yves suddenly stopped and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

“Oh I’ll give him a call alright. I’m going to ask him if I can borrow you !”

Serena was shocked. “But I’m here on a sabbatical, I’m not working as a doctor. “

Yves grinned. “A shame. I’m going to ask him nonetheless, and then it’s up to you. I hope you change your mind,” and he pushed off the wall and headed off down the corridor.

“The arrogant arsehole!”, Serena fumed as she and Bernie got changed side by side, Serena trying not to look at Bernie’s toned body as she shimmied into her sinfully tight runners and hoping Bernie didn’t catch sight of her flabby bits. Bernie laughed as she pulled on her T shirt. “I know he’s out of order, but would you consider it? Working here for a bit, I mean?”

Serena was still in shock “I’ll have to give it a lot more thought.”

***

By the time Bernie and Cameron made it to the vineyard, Bernie was more concerned about her son’s reaction to the idea of picking grapes than of Serena working in the hospital. Cameron had said little about his night on the tiles, but she sensed in him a reluctance to move on, as if he had found something in St. Julien, apart from a mostly absent mother, that held his interest. It had been easy enough to get him to accompany her to the party. It seems he had already run into some of the young vineyard workers in the bars and cafes of the town.

As soon as they arrived at the outdoor area where the young seasonal workers and the regular vineyard staff were firing up a giant barbecue, Cameron had a beer thrust into his hand and a friendly arm slung round his shoulders.

“Ramón, hey man! “

The owner of the friendly arm turned out to be a third year Venezuelan medical student studying in Lyon, with whom Cameron had already bonded over a game of pool. Or so Bernie gathered. She politely allowed him to kiss her on both cheeks, then let them wander off. Serena drew her aside, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m guessing this isn’t really your scene, and nor is it mine. Let’s leave them to it. The grown-ups have a table over here with wine. The staff will bring us food, no need to get down and dirty with the children!”

Bernie nodded and followed Serena to the table. She noticed that Serena was wearing a navy camisole that clung seductively to her curves, and an open, loose chiffon blouse in swirling shades of blue and violet. She had tiny violet crystal earrings to match. Bernie felt her insides churn with anticipation as she thought that there was a possibility – faint but not hopeless, that soon she might be seeing Serena every day at work. 

“You look better than you did this morning,” she commented.

“Well that’s what catching up on a bit of beauty sleep will do! No, actually, apart from my afternoon nap, I feel much better now. I haven’t taken any painkillers recently, so let’s hope it continues that way.”

As they sat chatting, the staff began putting bowls of salad, dishes of olives and plates of bread on the table, then Marie-Ange came over bearing a huge platter of grilled meats.

“Here we are, ladies, tuck in,” and she sat with them and let Serena pour her some red wine.

“Bernie I am happy to see your son here. It would be great if he could join us for at least three weeks, we have a few spaces left in the dormitory.”

“I think it would be very good for him”, Bernie replied in her careful French, stuffing chunks of grilled pork and onions and green peppers into a mini baguette and topping it with a long drizzle of harissa. “He has free time but he doesn’t know what to do with himself and he doesn’t have much money of his own. This way, he earns and meets new people.”

Marie-Ange nodded, and then Serena began to engage her in a discussion in rapid French that Bernie understood related to Serena working as a surgeon instead of at the vineyard. Her heart began to beat faster. She couldn’t catch all the finer nuances but when they clinked glasses, Bernie knew some sort of deal had been struck. She was about to ask, but Serena winked and mouthed “later”.

It surprised no one that before the end of the evening, a rather animated Cameron came to tell his mother that he would not be returning to her flat. He had brought a few things in an overnight backpack and said he would collect the rest of his stuff later. Tomorrow was Sunday, he would stay with the young people here and find out more about the work. If it appealed to him he would start on Monday. Bernie and Serena exchanged smiles. Once the food had been eaten and several glasses of wine drunk, Serena proposed a walk and a nightcap at her cottage. They got up from the table and said their goodbyes, then walked slowly back towards the cottage.

“So what was that all about?” Bernie wanted to know.

Serena wore a mischievous smile, the dimples in her cheeks irresistible in the moonlight as she suddenly took Bernie’s arm. Bernie’s first instinct was to stiffen, but then she forced herself to relax. It felt rather cosy walking arm in arm in the soft dark, insects chirping and humming all around, breathing in the aromatic scent of the countryside, and Serena.

“You know I was kind of annoyed at Dr. Charpentier this morning, but when I think about it, I realise I really miss surgery. And do you know what the best part of this morning’s operation was?”

“Seeing the artery perfectly fixed thanks to your expertise?” ventured Bernie.

Serena hugged her arm tighter. ‘Well, that was good, yes. But it was working with you. Charpentier was right- we make a great team!”

Bernie couldn’t find words for a few seconds, her brain just shut down.

“Bernie, is something wrong?” Serena suddenly stopped walking. “Don’t you want me to work with you?”

“No..I..no, of course nothing’s wrong,” Bernie stammered. In fact, she was so overwhelmed by the idea of working with Serena Campbell, seeing her every day, having someone to talk to, have lunch with, that she just couldn’t get her head around the fact that it might be real.

“No, Serena, I’d love to work with you!” she said emphatically. “I was just surprised, that’s all”.

“Really?” Serena’s joy was unmistakeable as they stood facing each other, then without warning, she threw her arms round Bernie’s neck and hugged her tight, kissing her on the cheek. Bernie was caught off guard and off-balance, her arms coming automatically around Serena. It was no more than a few seconds, but time enough for Bernie to feel Serena’s breasts pressing against hers, to get a lungful of her sweet perfume, and a hint of that luscious bottom where Bernie’s hand rested below Serena’s hip. And was it her imagination, or was Serena holding on tighter and for longer than friends usually did? When Serena finally let go and pulled back, Bernie found her heart racing and her cheeks unnaturally warm. Serena didn’t seem to notice, and took her arm again to resume walking.

“So if I do go to work at the hospital, Marie-Ange says I can stay in the cottage at least until the end of the harvest, and use the spare car. I offered to pay the rent, but she won’t take more than 50% and she wants me to keep tutoring the girls in English. Fair deal, eh?”

“Um…yes, absolutely,” said Bernie distractedly, still mentally feeling the way the curve of Serena’s hip fit her hand, and the soft velvet of the skin on her neck. By the time they reached the cottage, she was decidedly uncomfortable.

“So, nightcap?” asked Serena.

“Thank you, Serena, but I..um..I should be going. I don’t want to drink any more, I have to drive.”

“We could have tea,” Serena suggested, “or you could stay over?”

Bernie’s brain went into overdrive at that thought. “No, really, I need to go home, but …” seeing the disappointment on Serena's face, “maybe some tea?” 

“Then tea it will be, Major,” unlocking the door and standing aside. “After you.”


	9. A Partnership, Literally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena gets a phone call from Hanssen that leaves her puzzling. She joins the surgical team at the hospital, and Bernie discovers that Jax has had to cut short his leave because of an injury. Bernie and Serena start to bond a little as colleagues and also more as friends.

While Serena was mulling over her decision to work at the hospital, news of her activities had travelled fast. She was washing up after a light Sunday lunch when the ringing of her phone shattered the peace and quiet of the cottage. Serena smiled when she saw the name flashing up on the screen. It was predictable really.

“Henrik! What can I do for you?”

“How are you Ms Campbell?”

“I’m fine. Is there something wrong?”

“I hadn’t planned to interrupt your sabbatical, but it seems your surgical talents have come to the attention of a certain Yves Charpentier, the head of Surgery at your local hospital.”

“So it would seem. And I take it he called you, he said he knows you, after all?”

“Yes, he does. He asks if he can – I think his term was ‘borrow’ you. I said that that was entirely up to you.”

“I see.” Serena sensed there was more to come. “And what else did Monsieur Charpentier say?”

“That you appear to have teamed up with a certain Obs-Gynae consultant called Berenice Wolfe.” 

“So?” Serena prompted.

“And that having the two of you in one place – how did he put it? _Il n’est pas chance qu’il ne retourne.”_

Serena laughed. “Really? Opportunity knocks only once? Well, I’m not sure quite what opportunity he senses. Honestly, Henrik, it was pure fluke. I know Ms Wolfe, of course, actually I consulted her for er …female issues, then we kept bumping into each other and yesterday we happened to be crossing the same stretch of floor when a man with a cut throat collapsed in front of us. That sounds rather dramatic, but it’s true. And there was no other specialist available at that moment.”

“And Ms Wolfe, being multi-skilled, stepped into the breach taking you with her, I understand.”

“Do you know her?” Serena was beginning to feel she was missing something here.

“Of her,” was all Hanssen would say.

“Her ex-husband, Marcus Dunn?”

“Yes, we have met, although what I know about her is from her publications- she’s quite the authority, you know, on complicated obstetric procedures in under-resourced areas.”

“That doesn’t sound like your kind of bedtime reading, Henrik.”

“Well, one does occasionally like to stretch one’s surgical horizons, as it were, and I did see her at a conference in the US a couple of years ago on _Trauma and Surgical Emergencies in the Military Operational Environment._ She was impressive. Very.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Henrik, but she’s recovering from major injuries and I’m on a sabbatical, so I don’t know quite what Yves Charpentier thinks he’s going to do with us.”

“I gather he’s short-staffed, and that he’s been told he has to upgrade most of the medical staff over the next 2 years or lose some of his government funding. He sees you both as being qualified and experienced to assist with that.”

“Teaching?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure. That’s the extent of my knowledge. But just one thing, Serena…”

“Yes?”

“Your current sabbatical from Holby has a 12 month deadline. After that we can’t guarantee your consultant’s position and you may be forced to compete for any vacant positions. Just to make that clear.”

“Oh don’t worry, Henrik, I’m sure things here will resolve themselves well within that deadline,” Serena sounded supremely confident.

“Well, then, we’ll leave it there. As far as I’m concerned, while you are not on an active contract with us, you can lend your expertise to whomsoever you like.”

“Well, thank, you Henrik. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

“And Ms Wolfe would be an ideal, er, surgical partner, I would think.”

“Partner?”

“A clumsy turn of phrase- I mean, from what I have observed of her, your skills would complement hers well. She’s also quite …..”

“Quite what, Henrik?” Serena’s tone is impatient.

“Quite charismatic, I was going to say. Something of an enigma, perhaps, although not necessarily to someone with your considerable psychological perspicacity.”

Hanssen didn’t do chuckling, but Serena heard it all the same.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she said haughtily. “Now I really must go, Henrik, so goodbye and thank you for giving me a heads up.”

Whatever was all that about? Serena wondered.

***

Bernie went to work on Monday morning with a sense of anticipation. Would Serena accept Charpentier’s offer? Imagining her new friend in various hospital scenarios, she was totally unprepared for what was waiting for her in her office.

“Jax!” she gasped, as, entering the room, she saw her previously absent colleague sitting at her desk. “What are you doing here?”

Jax gave her a rueful grin and, pushing his hands against the desk, manoeuvred himself into plain view. He was dressed in a tracksuit, sitting in a wheelchair, his left leg encased in plaster up to the thigh.

“An early end to my hopes of cycling round Europe.”

“What happened?” Bernie asked, perching against the desk.

“Oh, a three-way disagreement between a truck, a sports car and me somewhere in the Dolomites. I lost. As you can see.”

“But …don't you need time off to recover?”

“I suppose some people would see it that way, but you know I’m a workaholic right? I thought we could divide the tasks between us and then we could cover more ground, so to speak.”

“I see,” Bernie folded her arms across her chest. “Well, relieved though I am to see you in one piece, Jax, I think we have some planning to do now. Do the hospital governors know you’re back?

“Oh, sure. And Charpentier, of course. He’s desperate to get more names on the surgical rota.”

“Right,” an image of Serena in the hospital’s royal blue scrubs floated across the surface of her consciousness.

At that moment the phone rang on the desk. Jax was nearest.

“Bouchard? _Mais bien sûr, Yves, on arrive._ Bernie, there’s a good coffee stand just opened over the road, could you …..? Then join us in the conference room on the 3rd floor?”

Bernie glared at him.

“Hey, come on, I’m on two wheels, you’re on two legs. I’ll repay the favour. And mine’s a triple shot latte, OK?”

“What about Charpentier?”

“Just get him an espresso.”

Jaw clenched, Bernie grabbed her bag and stomped out. The new coffee stand that seemed to have appeared overnight was staffed by a good -looking man in his thirties with designer stubble and startling green eyes with long, dark lashes.

“This is new,” she said, fishing out her purse and looking for a name. The man gave her a cheeky smile and pointed to a sign above his head. “ _Café Naïma”,_ it said.

“Oh, like the restaurant!” she exclaimed.

The man grinned and said “She’s my aunt. I’m Sami. This is our first day. Normally I run the patisserie, but we thought we’d give this a go, so I’m setting it up. Croissants and stuff coming tomorrow.”

“Great,” enthused Bernie, who now had less far to walk for a shot of caffeine in drinkable format and a quality pastry. But how to say “triple shot latte” in French? She had just started constructing the sentence when Sami interrupted.

“It’s for Jax?”

“Um..yes..do you know him?”

“Of course. Leave it with me,” and he set about grinding beans and making espressos and frothing milk. By the time Bernie collected her tray, they were quite friendly.

“I’ll see you again soon, Sami, no doubt,” Bernie smiled as she picked up her tray.

Entering the conference room where Charpentier and Jax were waiting, Bernie had a sudden jolt of pleasure when she saw that Serena had joined them.

“Serena, hi, I’m so sorry….” she began, indicating the drinks.

“No worries…”, Serena brandished her takeaway cup. “I got mine on the way in.”

“OK, we’re all caffeinated,” Jax began in English. “So what’s your plan, Yves?”

The morning was a whirl and Bernie found herself struggling to keep up. Not just the language, which switched from English to French and back, something that taxed her brain more than she would have liked, but the fact that Yves Charpentier seemed to have the power to make decisions that, anywhere else, Bernie was sure, would require rubber stamping by at least three other officials. Serena said little, but it was clear that there was already an understanding between her and Charpentier that she was at their disposal. The surgical rota, Bernie’s main area of interest, was fairly straightforward, and when the meeting ended, Bernie asked “Does that mean you’re on our Team?”

“Yes, I rather think it does. I’ll be based in the ED but will assist with General Surgery and anyone else who needs a hand.”

“Right. OK yes, I see. Well,” looking at her watch, “in thirty minutes I have an abdominal hysterectomy with complications. There may be excessive bleeding. I could use your help, if you’re up for that?”

“Absolutely,” Serena was happy to get out of meeting mode and into action. “I’m just going to HR to sign some papers and I’ll be back.”

The surgery went well and Serena effectively second-guessed Bernie to make the operation go smoothly throughout.

As they were scrubbing out, Bernie said “I could get used to this.”

“To what exactly?” Serena turned to look at her.

“To having someone support me in surgery, to help me make the difficult decisions. Especially when they speak English.”

Serena’s eyes were warm as she replied “Well, it seems that’s what Charpentier wants, and as far as I can see, he represents the Powers That Be. And that’s fine with me. “

She turned to dry her hands, then put one hand on Bernie’s shoulder.

“And you’re a brilliant surgeon, Ms Wolfe, it’s a pleasure to be your partner….in surgery, I mean.”

Bernie felt her cheeks get hot, a counterpart to the burning of her shoulder through her scrubs. Serena’s eyes were like warm chocolate and Bernie had to look away for a second.” 

“I ..er.. yes, thank you, Ms Campbell. Your presence is much appreciated. Partners, hmmm?” Bernie couldn’t resist. “I have no objection to that.”

“Well, in that case, partner, it’s one o’clock and we need to get lunch. Naïma’s?”

Bernie nodded happily and Serena phoned ahead to get a table. This proved to be a wise decision as, when they arrived, the restaurant was full. Naïma caught Serena’s eye across the room and gestured them to go to the counter.

“I’ve got a more private room in the back”, she said, “among the plants. I’ve put you there.”

Serena nodded and Bernie followed her through a side door and into a small, glass-fronted conservatory, with four tables discreetly spaced between tall plants.

“Well this is nice,” Bernie said, taking up the menu. It was a warm day and the doors were open, standing fans gently swishing cooler air around. The combination of sounds, and the denseness of the foliage created a far more intimate space for conversation than the main restaurant.

“I’ll say,” Serena remarked, raising her eyebrows as she saw what the Daily Special was. She sniffed- “Well I know what I’m having.”

“Me too,” and Bernie, led by her nose, got up and went to the open door which gave onto a courtyard. Outside, in a brightly striped apron, fanning a long line of fresh sardines over charcoal, was a familiar face.

“Sami? I thought you were on the coffee stand oday?”

“Oh, hi Bernie, nice to see you here. One of our employees has taken over the coffee stand now. I’m on barbecue duties, as you can see.”

“Smells delicious,” Bernie winked at him as she turned back to rejoin Serena.

***

Serena groaned. “If I eat like this every day I won’t be able to work in the afternoon.” She sat back, a small stack of sardine bones piled on her plate. “That salsa with the grilled peppers and mint was fabulous.” 

Bernie had scooped the last of her sardines and salsa into a pitta and was busy anointing it with harissa. She beamed at Serena as she levered it towards her mouth.

“And if I stuffed myself with carbs like you do, I’d be as fat as a house,” she remarked, having noted Bernie’s habit of adding bread to everything.

Bernie chewed, swallowed and chased the food with a slug of iced mint tea. “Sometimes I forget to eat,” she confessed. “A lifetime of irregular mealtimes and high octane working environments. So when I have the chance, I fuel up.”

Serena sighed. “It sits very well on you,” she said almost grudgingly, “whereas I put on five kilos every time I look at a pastry!”

“You look perfect,” Bernie said. “I mean it. A few curves trumps skinny and bony any day. Certainly with men, I would think.”

Serena stared at her. Was she serious? She broke off her gaze, stunned by the warmth and sincerity in Bernie’s eyes.

“Well, I don’t know about that…… I’m having a bit of a rest from relationships,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Men, I mean. It’s just all too complicated and I’m rapidly reaching the point where I can’t be bothered. Sometimes one is better off on one’s own, don’t you think?”

“Oh…quite..yes,” stammered Bernie.

“Although I would think the ladies would be beating a path to your door,” Serena took a sip of tea as she said this, with a twinkle in her eye.

Bernie looked distinctly uneasy. “Why…why would you say that?”

“Well, look at you! How was it I heard someone describe you when I said I had met you in France? Tall, blonde and gorgeous, I believe. From what I hear, you’re quite the lesbian pin-up, Major Wolfe.”

Bernie had flushed a dull red and dropped her head.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” Serena appeared contrite although she was secretly enjoying watching Bernie squirm.

“I…I just, I’m not used to this. I haven’t even really got my head around it myself,” she admitted, lifting her head. The mixture of fear and confusion in her eyes snapped Serena out of her jokey mood immediately. She reached over to cover one of Bernie’s hands with her own.

“I know it must be hard, and you’ve suffered a lot on this journey. But now is the time to build your confidence, Bernie. You’re single, times have changed for the better and you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman with many years ahead of her. Lots to celebrate, I’d say!”

“Thank you, Serena. If only it were really that easy. To build confidence, I mean.”

“Well, I’ve got your back, and any time you want me to ride shotgun to help you get back out there, I’m game!”

Bernie smiled at the image. “I hardly think there’s a need for riding shotgun in St. Julien.”

“Oh no? Well, let’s start going out more and you’ll see. I bet you can turn a few female heads even in this sleepy little backwater.”

Bernie snorted. “Well, I’m not averse to having a more active social life, but you’re probably the one who’ll be turning the heads, Campbell.”

Were those male or female heads she was referring to, Serena wondered, as Bernie turned back to the menu.

"Did I see chocolate almond tart for dessert ?"

"You did indeed," Naïma had appeared at the table and began stacking their used plates. 

Bernie caught Serena's eye. "With crème fraîche?"

Naïma inclined her head.

"Then that will be two," Bernie said, closing the menu, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Serena frowned. "No, that will be one. And two spoons."

"Spoilsport."


End file.
